


Some Money for Your Time

by MeltedPanini



Series: Some Money for Your Time Universe [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Actual Journal Writing, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, History, Humor, Love Triangles, Mythology References, OFC can be read as Reader Insert, POV Multiple, Plot Driven, Politics, Questioning Religion, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, Torture, Uneasy Allies, Violence, bildungsroman, character driven, mature content, vampire lore, witch lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltedPanini/pseuds/MeltedPanini
Summary: Mystic Falls is a hot bed for magic and monsters, so it's only fitting that Jason Todd is resurrected there. And it's even more fitting that he nearly terrifies some high school girl to death in the process.This incident pulls Jason into a mystery, in which he encounters both old and new foes and forms some interesting alliances to combat said enemies. These "allies" grow to include both a narcissistic vampire named Damon Salvatore and the aforementioned high school girl who Jason managed to nearly petrify to death. Goodie.As always, please read and review at your leisure! :)





	1. Another Brick in the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very AU fanfiction, and while some of the core mythos and characters of Vampire Diaries and Batman will remain faithful to canon, I have taken many artistic liberties. 
> 
> This story mainly focuses on Damon Salvatore, Jason Todd, and the Original Female Character Jennifer Hemming. Granted, there will still be a lot of attention placed on the rest of the Mystic Falls gang and other characters from the Batman mythos.
> 
> This first chapter will not have any Damon or much of Jason in it, so please don't be too disappointed. This fic will effectively revolve around them, as the story picks up in pace (which won't happen until about Chapters 10 or 11).
> 
> Also, my apologies for my rather horrible summary; I don't want to say too much and give away more of the plot (I aim to make this a story with a fair amount of mystery, intrigue, and plot twists).
> 
> Thank you for reading this fan work, and I hope you enjoy what I have to present:

**Chapter 1: Another Brick in the Wall**

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_From the Diary of Mr. Thomas Stonewell. Boston, Massachusetts. December, 1773._

 

Tonight has been truly horrid, as it seems I have stumbled into a most inconvenient lust.

 

I suppose everything had started out well enough. The wind made the conditions outside bitter, but that was to be expected, given that we were on the Harbor. My arms were exhausted from throwing chests of tea into the water, and the warrior paint that had been stamped across my face was melting off from my own sweat. But, in some way, the rather poor conditions lent themselves to the furnishing of a, shall we say, more “rough and tumble” atmosphere - it qualified my tenure as a Son of Liberty as possessing some merit. Or, at least, that was the hope. 

 

After hurling what had to be my billionth chest of tea into the ocean, I wiped the sweat from my brow, but in doing so, I spotted a figure on the wharf. Hairs bristling across my body, I promptly notified Phineas, who bade me apprehend the figure.

 

So, of course, I left my position on the ship and discretely made my way towards the figure, though perhaps I was not so discreet, as the apparation (what else could I call it, really?) seemed to tense and suddenly bounded away. I made chase through the coiling streets of Boston, following what I soon realized was a swishing skirt.

 

Through several complex maneuvers, which I have no genuine interest in describing, I caught the swishing skirt and found its owner to be the most bewitching woman I had ever seen. My mouth was impossibly dry, as I attempted to formulate a coherent sentence. She giggled, and I could not help the smile that immediately overran my face. The overwhelming feeling of connection that suctioned itself to me was suddenly lost when she kneed me (in the most tender area belonging to a man) and ran off into the night.

 

The only thing that left evidence of her most spectacular existence was an embroidery that she had been clutching. I, being a besotted fool, picked it up from the ground; it was a depiction of the Liberty Tree being cut down by those dreadful lobsterback soldiers.

 

It seemed my lady love was a Loyalist... A Loyalist who had both seen my face up close and had witnessed me and my fellow Patriots throwing tea into the Boston Harbor.

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

 _June 2013 at 9:32 pm, On Wisteria_ _Farm in West Virginia_. _Third Person POV:_

 

The night sky fused into one continuum with the flat, unilluminated Earth beneath it; welkin and land were only made into two distinct entities when the street lamp seemed to remember its job, and its flickering light allowed the old Wisteria farm house (named after some long since passed great-grandmother) to reappear into existence.

 

In truth, it was a prettier sight when the house was clothed in darkness, as it had turned derelict over the years. Perhaps its blatant ugliness kept visitors away, as the only noise that could be heard within a five mile radius of the house were the creaks and groans emitted by its ramshackle pipes and eroding wood floors (either that, or the noise could be accounted for by the startling possibility that the mold, which infested every bathroom, had evolved to a point that it had developed the capacity for using speech and language).

 

Anyway, the silence that penetrated through the house and the surrounding land was exactly the way Willis liked living, thank you for thinking of him.

 

Well, at least, that was what Willis told himself. He had, after all, longed for tranquility and quiet since he was a young boy living in loud, dangerous Gotham City. Lately, however, the quiet had begun to irk him.

 

It was just another reminder of how completely alone he was. Thus, when he saw, in the periphery of his eye, a car snaking up his long, winding driveway, he felt a weird churning flutter up from his stomach and into his heart. He internally scolded himself for becoming excited at such a silly prospect.

 

Nevertheless, Willis rose from his chair and scurried towards the door. He paused before it and waited for the doorbell to ring; he did not want to seem overzealous (at this thought, Willis, again, admonished himself for caring so much about a stranger's impromptu visit). The doorbell rang only a few moments later, and Willis immediately opened the door.

 

Standing before him was a young man.

 

"Can I help you, kid?" Willis asked.

 

"Are you Alexander Purdue?" the young man replied, a quiet confident oozing from his voice.

 

"Yeah, I've gone by that name from time to time. And you are?"

 

"I'm Clarence Gallagher. I'm here on behalf of Carol Lockwood. You see, I'm her nephew. I'm here because -" the man, apparently named Clarence, said.

 

"The Council," Willis filled in.

 

"Yes, that's correct, sir. I won't ask to come in, ha, but Aunt Carol sent me to talk to you about the book. It's -"

 

"The book?" Willis interjected.

 

"Yes, about -" Clarence began, but Willis interrupted again, "I know what book you mean, son. But, it, uh... It no longer exists. I destroyed it a long ass time ago. But I know what you need, and I can give it to you. Let's have a proper chat, you and I."

 

Willis bade Clarence enter the old house through some grand gesticulation. And so Clarence followed.

 

_September 1, 2013 at 10:45 am, Mystic Falls High School. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

It was the first day of junior year. Goodie.

 

I kept telling myself that I just had to get through two more years of high school (or maybe just this year, if my plans to leave came to fruition). Then, I would be done with this unfortunate excuse of a town forever.

 

It was not that I hated the people in Mystic Falls or even high school; rather, I simply despised the town itself. I swear it was not some sort of weird, ill-directed teenage angst that made me hate Mystic Falls (well, to be fair, my angst does account for about 10% of it).

 

It's hard to explain, but if you walk through the town square and look around at the weird medley of Southern, Gothic, and Victorian architecture, you get the feeling that you're on the set of some indie horror movie about Jack the Ripper, rather than in an actual town. The people only amplify the feeling. Pass by anyone and take a good look at them. Almost all of them appear as if they are guests at some sort of twisted masquerade, in which they must look happy and okay in an effort to persuade themselves and everyone else that Mystic Falls was indeed a happy and okay place.

 

"Jen!" a familiar voice called.

 

Snapping out of my reverie, I whipped around to see Matt Donovan, your archetypal all-American boy equipped with wheat blond hair and a kind smile.

 

"Hey Matt," I said. "What's up?"

 

"Clarence wanted me to come grab you for lunch."

 

"Oh, er, I was actually planning on going to the library."

 

Matt laughed. "Isn't it a little early to start studying? I mean, it's the first day of school."

 

Fuck, Matt. Could you let me live in peace? I swallowed my admittedly unwarranted annoyance and lied through my teeth, "No, I know. I've just been assigned so much homework. I figured I'd get a head start."

 

Matt gave me a pointed look, and eventually crumbling under peer pressure, I caved, "Yeah, sure, let's go to lunch."

 

On the way to lunch, Matt and I made small talk about our classes and summer break. We typically did not talk to each other, but seeing as my best friend Clarence Gallagher had begun dating Bonnie Bennett (a member of the in-crowd, consisting of Matt Donovan, Tyler Lockwood, Elena Gilbert, Caroline Forbes, and the aforementioned Bonnie Bennett) in March of sophomore year, I was now obliged to eat lunch and hang out with Matt and the rest of the in-crowd.

 

They were all very nice people (well, perhaps I should amend my statement by excluding Caroline and Tyler), and I liked them a lot; however, I could not help but to miss the days when I just exclusively hung out with Clarence. I felt most comfortable with him, seeing as we had been best friends since pre-school. It was harder to open up to the others.

 

Eventually, Matt and I made it to the lunch table. Everyone from the in-crowd was already seated, including a new boy. He was, to put it lightly, extremely handsome. 

 

"Oh my God! Hi Jen! How are you? How have you been?" Caroline Forbes bubbled. Before I was able to respond, she squealed and gestured toward the handsome new kid, "Have you met Stefan? Jen, this is Stefan; Stefan, this is Jen. I was just telling Stefan about the Falls Party. You know, the back to school bonfire?"

 

Stefan gave me a nice smile, displaying his perfect teeth, and I sent him a smile, albeit a far less beautiful one, in return.

 

"Are you all going to the Falls Party?" Stefan asked. His question, however, was clearly directed toward Elena Gilbert (given the smoldering look he was flashing her).

 

Elena smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked down demurely.

 

Ignoring this exchange, Caroline then proceeded to ramble on about the Falls Party and unabashedly flirt with Stefan (though he seemed far more taken with Elena than with Caroline), while Matt seemed to collapse inside of himself at Caroline’s unyielding advances towards Stefan (for some inexplicable reason, Matt had been in love with Caroline for years).

 

At that point, I allowed myself to mentally check out of the conversation and plan out the rest of my night. I needed to start preparing for Debate team (I was determined to make it to nationals again) and call Dr. Ocelot about –

 

"Earth to Jen!" Clarence nudged me. "Whatcha thinking about?"

 

"Oh, hey Clarice," I grinned, reveling in his annoyance at the use of my pet name for him. "Just thinking about you."

 

Clarence chuckled, while everyone else overpassed Clarence and I in favor of continuing the conversation regarding the Falls Party.

 

"I asked you if you were doing anything later today. I wanted to talk to you," Clarence said.

 

"Hmmm, I mean, I am ever so busy," I sniffed in the most pompous British accent I could muster.

 

"Oh God, no, not the accent again, Jen," Clarence said, dragging his hand down his face. 

 

"Please. You _looooove_ it!" I sang. "But, yeah, I'm free tonight. Dinner?"

 

"Ooh! That's a great idea, Jen!" Caroline jumped into the conversation. "Let's all meet at the Grill at six!"

 

I suppressed the urge to argue and nodded with a plastic smile twisted onto my face.

 

I was, however, spared from listening to Caroline launch into a discussion concerning the particulars of the upcoming meeting at the Mystic Falls Grill by the merciful sound of the bell.

 

The rest of the school day passed without event, and I, in a rare burst of spontaneity, decided to take the scenic route home. By that, I mean I decided to take a walk through the woods, in the spirit of carpe diem and all of that nonsense; we were learning about transcendentalism in English class, and my teacher, Ms. Holland, had made it her personal mission to imbibe all of us with a profound appreciation for the movement and its messages.

 

Her efforts were wasted on me (and probably wasted on the rest of the class as well). And yet, there was something about the way that the sunlight haloed around the leaves that made me smile. So, falling victim to Ms. Holland's pleas for us to actively seek out the beauty in nature, I plugged in my headphones and began to dance my way (thank God no one could see me) through the woods, with my eyes trained on the canopy.

 

Lost in my own world, I tripped and fell onto something that felt oddly solid. Oddly human.

 

Scrambling up, I saw that I had tripped on a man covered in blood and dirt. His clothes were tattered and ragged; his eyes were shut, and he was completely immobile.

 

"Ahhh!" I screamed. Recovering slightly, I asked, "Sir, are you okay?"

 

No response. I moved to call 911 when suddenly the man, in one graceful motion, stood up, snatched the phone out of my hand, and pushed me against a tree. I struggled against him and started to formulate a scream, but before I could, he clasped a large hand across my mouth.

 

He began to speak furiously in a language that I did not understand. His voice became harsher with each word, and his already firm grip around my mouth and arm became tighter to the point that I could almost feel my blood vessels rupturing. I must have started crying because his grip loosened slightly, and he stopped talking. Instead, his piercing blue eyes scrutinized me for a few long, dreadfully silent moments. My heart rate was accelerating out of control.

 

Finally, he said, "Scream, and I won't hesitate to snap your neck. Nod if you understand."

 

I managed to nod, despite shaking furiously. He slowly removed his hand from my mouth and spat, "Where are we?"

 

"M-Mystic Falls, Virginia," I sputtered. "Please let me go, I-"

 

"Shut up!" he roared. "What’s the date?"

 

"September 1, 2013."

 

At that, he removed his grip on me entirely and backed away slowly.

 

Not wanting to stick around any longer, I ran as fast as I could away from him. He, however, grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him.

 

"Look, kid, I mean you no harm. I just need some money. Then, I'll leave you alone. Okay?" he said, his voice still harsh.

 

"Let go of me, and I-I'll give you all the money I have."

 

He let go, and I pulled off my backpack and dug into it in search of my wallet. Upon finding it, I placed it on the ground near his feet and bolted away from him. This time, he did not make a move to stop me.

 


	2. Abracadabra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note on Flashbacks: There will be many flashbacks from Chapter 2 onward, but they will not be in any chronological order.
> 
> Quick Note on Journal Entries: The journal entries will appear in chronological order.
> 
> I promise there is a lot more action and drama (and I will explore multiple POVs, not just Jennifer's), but the first few chapters will be a bit slow. I know this chapter and the last may seem like filler, but I think they are actually very important to advancing the plot and introducing characters.
> 
> I want to really establish the feel of the town and of the characters, particularly Clarence (who will be explored a bit more in this chapter, but his role will grow substantially over the course of the story) and Jennifer.
> 
> I hope Jennifer is not a Mary Sue (but I still want her to be likable – I don't want to turn you guys off to the story just because of her). Let me know if she is, and I will make adjustments accordingly. Again, I’d also like to say that even though she is an OFC, she can definitely be read as a reader insert, if that’s your cup of tea.
> 
> Spoiler (kind of): This chapter, you will meet Damon Salvatore.
> 
> Okay, enough of my ranting. I hope you enjoy Chapter 2:

**Chapter 2: Abracadabra**

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_From the Diary of Mr. Thomas Stonewell. Boston, Massachusetts. December, 1774._

 

It has been a year since I met Miss Abigail on that fateful night they are now calling the “Boston Tea Party.”

 

God as my witness, I have known no greater joy than being with her, even if our courtship remains constrained by secrecy. And yet, my happiness is in perennial competition with my own internal turmoil, as Miss Abigail, beautiful as she is, remains a Loyalist. I hope that this is more due to her desire to conform to Gilbert family obligation than anything else, but she is insistent that Britain maintains stability among us colonies and that our continued relations with “blessed” King George is imperative for commerce.

 

And thus, as much as every feeling urges me toward her, there is a phantom double to every emotion that entreats me to cease my indelible betrayal to our (the colonies’) most worthy and (to express it frankly) most patriotic cause.

 

But, worse still, Miss Abigail’s thoughts on the matter have begun to seep into my mind. I always knew there was a certain dimension to this issue, but I suppose I never truly considered much of anything, once Phineas found me that night at the tavern…

 

More on this later. The Holy Day approaches, but before it arrives, I must go to the docks and cleanse my mind.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_September 1, 2013 at 2:14 pm, Mr. and Mrs. Hemming's Residence. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

The moment I got home, I raced into my bedroom, locked the door, and shut the windows. I tried to slow my breathing in an effort to calm down, but I was still on edge. I moved to reach for my cell phone to call my parents but realized it was still somewhere in the woods.

 

Sighing, I considered calling my parents with the home phone (as well as calling 911, but would that be too drastic of a reaction? How the fuck was I supposed to even react?). After some deliberation, however, I settled on waiting for my parents to arrive home from their business trip. They would know what to do.

 

While waiting for them, I started my homework to pass the time. I worked for six hours, but it was without contest the least productive six hours of my life. The anxiety was eating me up. I know it sounds pathetic, but I had never experienced such a terrifying (or quite frankly bizarre) event in my entire life.

 

Christ, I should _do_ something. Playing with my hands, I finally resolved to use the home phone to call them. Before I even reached the bottom of the stairs, however, my parents entered through the front door. They were dressed to the nines, having returned from their weeklong medical conference in Boston (they were both cardiologists – a fact that they used to constantly tease me for wanting to veer away from the family profession to become a lawyer).

 

"Mum! Dad!" I breathed in relief. "I missed you!"

 

"Oh, yes, I'm sure, sweetheart. You know, I've been dying to tell you about the conference. We saw Dr. Shevchenko! The neurosurgeon from Harvard. He came to dinner a few years ago. You remember him?" my mom asked.

 

I nodded and moved forward to give her a hug, but she pulled back and took my arms in her hands.

 

"You don't look good at all," she said, frowning.

 

"Oh right, I just, um, I - " I fumbled for words. My dad rolled his eyes and addressed my mom, "Samantha, quit worrying. Our girl's fine. Just needs some chow, that's all. Have you had dinner yet, Jen?"

 

"Oh, uh, no. I need to - " I began, but my dad interrupted me, "Have dinner. Let's fire up the grill and get some Rib Eyes -"

 

Before he could finish his sentence, I blurted out, "I need to tell you something."

 

My parents looked at me quizzically, and my story rushed out of my lips.

 

At its conclusion, my dad said, "Well, thank the Lord you are okay."

 

"Yes, praise Him. But, wait, Jennifer, why were you out in the woods in the first place?" Mom asked.

 

"Shortcut home," I said.

 

"That was foolish of you," Mom said, gently rubbing circles around my arm. "You know the woods are dangerous. You are so lucky you weren't killed."

 

"Since when have the woods been dangerous?" I frowned.

 

"Is that back sass I'm hearing?" Dad piped in, his left eyebrow was elevated so high that it nearly grazed his hairline.

 

"No, I just -" I began, but Dad interjected, "Am an idiot to go walking through the woods alone."

 

"Wait, you guys have always been fine with me walking through the woods before. Why -" I began again, but this time, Mom interrupted, "You were being idiotic. Not thinking before doing. End of story. Never do it again, and just thank the Lord that you are unharmed. I know I will be."

 

"What? How the hell is this your reaction right now?" I cried. "I could have died, and all you can do is give me a fucking sermon? Shouldn't we be reporting this to -"

 

"Young lady! Don't you _ever_ use that kind of language with me or your mother again! We will discuss this further, once you've calmed down. In the meantime, I want you to go to your room and say some prayers," my dad, now beat red, reprimanded. "Right now!"

 

Nodding slowly, I swallowed my anger and headed upstairs to my room. Sitting on my bed, I wondered if I was out of line in my reaction. After all, my parents were right in at least one regard: I made the decision to go walking through the woods. My choice put every proceeding event into motion. Still, it was not like I wanted to be attacked and harassed by some crazed man who could have easily killed me. Right now, I just wanted consolation from my parents and the conception of some sort of plan in reaction to what had just happened to me, not my parents pushing me toward God. Why, oh why, did they always have to loop every discussion back to God?

 

My parents were extremely religious, so in some ways, it was difficult for me to actually fault them for their response to my story. They thought God was the solution to everything, after all. But I... I didn't know what to think. Long talks with Clarence had made me think a little harder about the whole concept of religion, but ninth grade biology had materialized my skepticism into something more tangible. I tried to hide this doubt to appease my parents, of course, but sometimes - sometimes, I wanted to voice my doubts to them and everyone else at Sunday Mass. For fuck's sake, disregarding arguments substantiated by science or logic, think about how abstruse the concept of eating the symbolic body of a messiah as a ritual of reverence really is.

 

Yet, in spite of my doubts and questioning, I was never sure if my uncertainty was merely angst derivative of a drive to be unique or something deeper. After all, everyone else around me (not to mention billions of people around the world) took religion to heart. How could they all be wrong? How could my parents - my brilliant, board-certified physician parents who both regarded failure and adherence to falsehoods as non-options for themselves (and for me, for that matter) - be wrong?

 

Sighing, I rubbed my temples and grabbed my French textbook. Before I got the chance to even open it, however, I heard a loud tap. Jolting up, I scurried toward my window and peered downward. And there was Clarence, armed with a fistful of pebbles. He motioned for me to open my window.

 

I lifted it, and he proceeded to admonish me. "You were supposed to come to the Grill today!"

 

"Fuck, I forgot! Sorry, I just… Something happened. My parents are pissed."

 

"Funny. So am I!" he teased, his voice doused in faux anger.

 

Laughing, I said, "Climb up, and I'll explain."

 

He smirked and began to scale the sycamore tree conveniently planted next to my bedroom window.

 

Once he was safely inside of my house, I told him about my encounter with the bloody man.

 

"Are you okay? Are you sure he didn't hurt you? I- "

 

"I'm fine, Clarence. It was just more unsettling than anything."

 

"Yeah, that's fucking scary."

 

"Do you think I should do anything about it? I mean, report it. Would that even make sense for me to do?"

 

"Honestly, I've got no idea. I mean, you can report it if you want. But, by the sounds of it, he's probably just some random druggie dude. Probably won't see him again," Clarence replied. He combed his hand through his shaggy hair and finally said, "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Jen. Shit's not healthy."

 

"Yeah, I won't."

 

I wasn't sure if I was buying what he was saying. Clarence usually said the first thing that popped into his mind, but it felt like he was choosing his words prudently. Clearing my throat, I changed the subject, "So, what did I miss?"

 

"You mean at the Grill?"

 

"Yeah, the Grill!"

 

"It was boring as fuck. Not much to say, really."

 

"Obviously, I wasn't there. But, really, how was it? Did you and Bonnie get some alone time at least?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

 

He rolled his eyes, "Subtle, Jen."

 

"What?"

 

"You know what!"

 

"Clarence, Clarence, Clarence... You know I just want you to be safe. Remember, you must always lubricate before you fornicate - "

 

He slapped my arm, chuckling. "Never heard that line before."

 

"Well, I'm not completely unoriginal."

 

"Anyway, I was eating her out at -"

 

"Stop! My virgin ears are too pure to hear this smut."

 

"Hey, uh, really Mother Teresa? You just asked me about it."

 

"I was kidding, Fabio. I just mean that I want to hear about if you guys have an anniversary coming up or if you, like, need help executing a cute, romantic gesture for her. Since it's important to you, I just -"

 

"You're such a mother hen," he groaned, a smile inching across his face.

 

I clucked, laughed, and smacked his arm. "That's right, and it's bedtime for you, young man."

 

"You're subtle today," he said in his snarkiest tone.

 

"Whatever do you mean?"

 

"You're telling me it's bedtime. You clearly want me to leave."

 

"Thank Christ! You're finally leaving!" I said, feigning relief. Laughing, he moved to go, but before exiting out of the window, he said, "Bonnie's making me go to the Grill with everyone tomorrow. Be there this time."

 

"Fuck off."

 

"Jen, contrary to what you might think, it would not kill you to leave the house every once in awhile."

 

"Right, leaving the house wouldn't kill me; my deadly allergy to fresh air would."

 

"Isn't a cure to some allergies exposure to the allergen?"

 

"Not if it triggers an anaphylactic reaction. You know, Clarice, you're seriously inconsiderate to -" I said, ramping myself up for a monologue, when an exasperated Clarence whined: "For the love of God, please stop being difficult, Jen, and just go to the Grill tomorrow. We'll have fun, I promise."

 

"Jesus, okay! I'll go to the Grill with everyone tomorrow. Happy?"

 

"I think 'tired-of-your-shit' is a better descriptor," he said, smiling.

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Very funny... Now scram! Seriously. Your parents will skin you alive, if they realize you aren't home."

 

"Right you are. See you tomorrow, short stuff."

 

"Night. And wait, Clarence!"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Keep everything I told you between us? Please?"

 

He nodded and disappeared out into the night. That was the best thing about Clarence; the boy could keep a secret.

 

The next school day came and passed like yesterday's: quick and uneventful.

 

As I promised Clarence yesterday, I ended up going to the Grill with everyone. As per usual, the topic of conversation was centered on football. Apparently, Stefan had made the team, in spite of Coach Tanner's immense hatred for him.

 

Caroline trailed her fingers along Stefan's bicep, and said, "No wonder you made it on the team. You've got a _great_ arm."

 

Stefan smiled tightly and recoiled his arm away from her fingers. He said, "Thanks, Caroline."

 

"Yeah, I'm amazed Tanner let you on the team after what you did in history!" Caroline giggled.

 

More polite smiles and pointed silence from around the table swallowed up Caroline's giggles.

 

"What did you do in history?" I asked eventually.

 

"Oh my God! You haven't heard? Like, do you live under a rock?" Caroline said.

 

I swallowed my annoyance and opened my mouth to respond, but Clarence beat me to it, "I haven't heard either."

 

"Stefan just schooled Tanner in history. Tanner just kept asking Stefan the dates of different historical events, and Stefan got everything right," Bonnie explained. "He made Tanner look bad, basically."

 

"Oh my God, Bonnie! Why are you leaving out the _best_ part of the story?" Caroline said.

 

"There's a best part?" Stefan joked, trying to ease the growing tension.

 

"Yes, silly, of course! You know, you were there!" Caroline exclaimed, shrilly.

 

"Oh, wow… Look at the time. I think I have to head home," Matt said, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

"What the hell? We just got here!" Caroline said.

 

"Caroline, stop. If Matt's got to go, let him. But, you know, we'd love it if you stayed for a couple more minutes if you can, Matt," Elena said.

 

Matt nodded, "Thanks, Elena. I just – I just gotta get home. See my sister. She's, uh, back."

 

"Wait, what?" Elena asked, shocked. "Are you, uh…"

 

"I'm fine, Elena, I swear. I just have to leave," Matt said, and with that, our group was down to six.

 

As time passed, our group dwindled further and further in number. Stefan and Elena left to go see a movie together, and Caroline left to go to some party. It was just me, Clarence, and Bonnie left.

 

We talked a bit about the unprecedented number of animal attacks in Mystic Falls, but Clarence quickly grew weary of the “morbidity” of our conversation (rather odd considering he never shied away from such subject matter before) and supplicated that we talk about something else.

 

There was a brief lull in conversation, but Bonnie soon turned to me; a smirk now stitched onto her face.

 

"So…" she began.

 

"So…" I raised my eyebrow.

 

"Any boys in your life lately?" she asked.

 

I sighed, "Only in my wet dreams."

 

Bonnie curled her lip, but I earned a hearty laugh from Clarence. A worthy trade off.

 

"Seriously, Jen. No boys?" asked Bonnie.

 

"Bonnie, the closest I've ever come to a boyfriend is when Kenny Mathers wrote me a love poem in third grade. And he was gross. If anything happens with a boy, I'll let you know," I said.

 

"Really?" Bonnie asked.

 

"Really," I echoed.

 

"Because that hot guy at the bar has been eyeing you all night," Bonnie said, and inclined her head in the direction of quite possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life.

 

He had a swath of messy black hair that tumbled down his forehead and ended directly above his impossibly azure blue eyes. Eyes that were piercing right through me.

 

"Holy fuck, he is," I mumbled. "How – how did I not notice him?"

 

"You were too busy wolfing down those nachos to notice," Clarence said.

 

"Oh fuck! How bad is my face? How much nacho sauce is there?" I demanded, nearly spitting out my water, which I had been using to wash down my order of extra-cheesy nachos.

 

"You're fine. You're fine, really," Bonnie assured me. "Go talk to him."

 

_September 2, 2013 at 6:52 pm, Mystic Falls Bar and Grill. Damon Salvatore's POV:_

 

Finally, witch bitch was luring my meal for the night to me.

 

Jennifer, the girl I had selected for my meal, was now arguing with the witch (Bonnie, was it?) over whether or not she should approach me. The little fool was trying to pretend that she needed to go home; I suppose she was too intimidated to come talk to me. It made sense. She was almost pretty, in an innocuous kind of way, but there was something about her face that was just off.

 

Still, she would have to do for tonight's fuck and feed, seeing as she was the only single one in the group (besides the blond, Caroline, who was far too annoying for me to consider dealing with). I needed her death to put little Saint Stefan on edge - enough to make him malleable to my machinations. Frankly, if I wanted to accomplish what was necessary, inciting fear for _precious _Elena's safety was the most efficient way to do so. Besides, I wanted my return to be something of a spectacle, given that Stefan had yet to figure out that I was back. It's genuinely pitiable that he had yet to notice that fact; I suppose the puppy blood had made him even weaker than I suspected.__

 

After much discussion between my prospective dinner and the witch girl, Jennifer put down her water and got up from her chair. Assuredly (though somewhat surprisingly, given my characterization of her) coming up to talk to me.

 

But alas - she began making a beeline for the restaurant's exit. I guess she would indeed be living up to my initial perception of her.

 

Sighing (I relished a good chase, but tonight, I didn't feel like working for my meal), I slid out of my chair and lightly jogged to catch up with her.

 

I gripped her shoulder and spun her around. Her eyes widened comically when she saw it was me.

 

"Uh, hi. Do you need anything?" she asked. A brusque reply, likely bred from insecurity.

 

"I think the better question is: do _you_ need anything? You've been staring at me all night. Just wanted to know if there was a reason, aside from the obvious," I drawled.

 

"You started the staring, so I stared back. Anyway, my question still stands. Do _you_ need anything?"

 

"Your name, for one."

 

"Ethel."

 

I laughed (it _almost_ sounded genuine). "I wasn't aware that you were ninety-five years old. Want to try that again?"

 

"Fine, you caught me. My real name's Bambi," she said, smiling. I knew I had her now.

 

"So, you're a Disney star turned stripper?"

 

She laughed. Vapid girl.

 

"A ninety-five year old one, apparently," she said.

 

I smirked. "Now, you know lying is a sin."

 

"I wouldn't do it if it wasn't."

 

She was trying to be clever for me. How sweet. I said, "Answer three questions for me, and I'll tell you who you really are."

 

She hummed her approbation.

 

"How old are you?" I asked.

 

"Seventeen."

 

"So you're legal."

 

"Was that one of the questions?" she blushed.

 

"No. Just good news for me."

 

"Why? You think you'll get lucky with me?" she asked, raising both of her eyebrows.

 

"I know I will."

 

"Someone's cocky," she said. Her blush now seemed to be permanently stained on both of her cheeks.

 

"Very _cocky_. And I don't need to ask any more questions. I know exactly who you are."

 

"Who am I then?"

 

"You're the blushing virgin who wants me to fuck her tonight. I bet your name is something innocent. Maybe Jessica… No, no… You're a Jennifer," I said.

 

She gulped and began to stutter, “Then, who are -“

 

“I’m Damon. And you’re going to let me fuck you tonight,” I compelled her.

 

Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

 

"Come outside with me," I allowed my voice to drop to velvet as I compelled her again.

 

And so we left the shitty restaurant together; her small hand was engulfed entirely in mine, as I dragged her into the (conveniently abandoned) alleyway adjacent to the restaurant's entrance. Pinning her hand to the wall, I backed her against the brick, pressing into her with both my body and kiss. I licked her lips and made my own hard and soft, as I moved against her, but she remained completely still, in spite of my efforts to coax her into some action.

 

_Fucking prude _.__

 

I bit down on her bottom lip, inducing both a groan from her as well as an unanticipated brush of her tongue against mine. I gripped her hand and the back of her head harder, as I chased after her now retreating (or teasing, assuming the little puritan even understood what she was doing) tongue, until I grew weary of it all. I felt my disguise begin to drop in time with the rise of a familiar ache in my gums.

 

"Don't scream," I compelled her, slowly backing away from her lips. Her eyes widened again, as if she was some sort of cartoon character, and she began to thrash wildly against me. Her struggle grew in fanaticism, as my human facade was curtained back to reveal my real eyes and real teeth.

  

Her heart pumped deafeningly at the sight of me at my most authentic, and it was such a delicious sound; of course, I couldn’t help but allow my smile to unfurl up around my fangs and spark some light in my eyes. Grazing my teeth along her shaking brow, I sighed against her and willed the memory of this kill, as I did for all of the others, to remain unspoiled by the passage of time.

 

As the sound of her blood pumping rang impossibly louder in my ears, I snapped out of my thoughts and craned my neck down to bury my fangs into her flesh; but I was thwarted by a sudden, violent pain rocking through my body. I stumbled back from the girl in shock and touched my stomach, now sticky with fresh blood and throbbing with an all too familiar form of pain.

 

I had been shot.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_From the Memory of Damon Salvatore. March, 1523. Florence, Italy. Damon Salvatore's POV:_

 

I have only been shot one other time in my life. It ended in my death.

 

A few weeks before this, Katherine had pulled me aside into our secret alcove and asked me if I would run away with her to the New World. To some little trading post called Mystic Falls. She spoke of the freedom that awaited us there. The freedom to be and do whatever we desire, to see and feel and touch the ends of the Earth. The fire in her eyes scorched mine, and I knew then how much she meant this. Wanted this. Wanted me. Next thing I knew, I was assailing her face with kisses - migrating from her forehead to her chin. As I moved down further still to kiss her neck, she hummed that my impending transition into vampirism would assign greater meaning to every caress. She positioned my hands around her breasts; naturally, I hardened, while she moaned that my touch would be her undoing. I wondered that if this was her demise, then what would it mean for me to be inside of her? And so, when we translated our love into the physical act, she screamed that our eternity together would be spent knowing only this bliss.

 

Of course, _our_ always included Stefan, even if she never said it directly.

 

But I agreed to go with her because, really, I’d follow her anywhere. I’d abandon my studies at university and the future laid out for me. Because while yes, I may have  _privately_ enjoyed studying the humanities and learning under Machiavelli’s tutelage, these freedoms were eclipsed by far greater expectations and obligations that I would soon have to fulfil as the eldest son of Conti de Giuseppe Salvatore (fuck if I spent the remainder of my life running a bank). God, primogeniture was a cruel bitch.

 

With Katherine, however, my freedom would be absolute. And so, I made the appropriate arrangements for us to travel to the New World.

  

The weeks leading up to our escape would have been seamless had Stefan not been in the picture. He became even more withdrawn, capricious, and broody. This development was rather unsurprising considering his indecisiveness; his love for Katherine, I suppose, was not enough for him to be secure in his choice to depart.

 

Of course, Father was slightly unnerved to notice the rather drastic change in behavior of his favorite son, but this light suspicion spored into genuine incredulity on Father’s part, once Stefan’s behavior suddenly warmed with the establishment of a new, unnaturally sunny disposition (thanks to Katherine’s compulsion, I’m sure).

 

The night that our threesome (fuck, why was Stefan with us, again?) left to catch the ship, Father predictably (hindsight’s also a cruel bitch) caught us attempting to leave. Not so predictably, however, he pulled out a rifle in order to shoot Katherine with a wooden bullet, as she attempted to explain away our uncouth behavior. I immediately raced to Katherine’s rescue and pushed her out of the way before a bullet could lodge itself into her heart. Instead, it nestled itself into mine.

 

And I was left to lay on the ground - to stare at the full moon and to listen to the ring of the gun shot volley in my ears - until I bled out. Oh, those were the days.

 ______________________________________________________________________________

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I cannot stress enough how much I love writing and how excited I am for this story to grow and progress. It’s sort of meh right now, but I swear the action and mystery will begin to ramp up starting at about Chapter 4. For now, I’m basically just setting the scene and trying to introduce the world.
> 
> By the way, if you are unfamiliar with either Vampire Diaries or Batman, leave a review asking any questions you may have, and I will more than happily answer them. I’m obsessed with both, so I’d love the opportunity to connect with any interested readers and chat about either one! :)
> 
> Religion/Jen’s Parents:
> 
> Also, I hesitated to put the whole God scene in with Jen and her parents. I am by no means anti-religion (I think freedom of religion is a vital tenet of any society), and that was not the intent of that scene (nor was the scene a way to bash and dismiss agnostics or atheists as angst-ridden teens). I just wanted to explore Jen's character a bit more and provide more context to the world around her.
> 
> In her case, religion is a dominant presence in her household, and as the story progresses, it will affect her relationship with her parents (there's also a backstory to Jen's parents, but that won't be revealed until much later in the story). That's all I was trying to accomplish by putting in that scene. I hope it did not cause any offense.
> 
> In addition, I’d like to say that Jen’s parents are NOT bad people. They definitely had, in my opinion, a very weird reaction to Jen’s story. However, as the story progresses, you’ll start to see their reasoning and hopefully empathize with them (they love their daughter a lot, but suffice it to say, the situation is complicated, but their backstory will explain a lot about their characters).
> 
> On Caroline:
> 
> I know Caroline may seem annoying now, but I swear that this is intentional and not me hating on the character. I actually like her character a lot, but I want her storyline to be one of growth (in a similar fashion to the way she changes in the show). So, don’t fear, kickass Caroline is on her way here!
> 
> On Thomas Stonewell:
> 
> He’s a rather dramatic fellow. He’s young and thinks of himself as a romantic, so of course, he’s also pliable to persuasion. It’s why he joined the Patriot cause in the first place, and now, under Abigail’s influence, it is why he is beginning to doubt everything he was once so eager to believe.
> 
> However, his journal will also provide a lot of insight into the mythology of this fanfiction. In addition, his journal (and other journals from other characters from the past) also serves a thematic purpose. At the end of this fan fiction, I think I am going to write a long ass Author’s Note that addresses all of the themes and messages that I tried to convey (I’m curious if what I plan on going for will match your interpretation of this fic).
> 
> On ships:
> 
> As I have said earlier, I have many pairings in mind (not just pairings for main characters). Do you have any ships that you like/would enjoy being explored in this fanfic? I am open to suggestion if it conceivably fits in the narrative.
> 
> On Historical Accuracy: 
> 
> I try (and will continue to try to) to keep things as historically accurate as possible, but for the purposes of this narrative, I’ve made it so that Mystic Falls was founded as a small trading post/exploration point for Great Britain in the year 1502. Of course, in reality, Virginia was only inhabited by Native Americans at that time, and British expeditions to the place we now call Virginia began in the late 1500s (with Virginia eventually being made a colony in 1607).
> 
> On the Name Ethel:
> 
> I meant no offense with the Ethel joke. It's a perfectly good name! I just know someone with a grandmother named Ethel, so I always associate the name Ethel with grandmothers.


	3. Love Walks In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys and gals! I'm back.
> 
> Plot-wise, this story will be pretty heavy on both Batman and Vampire Diaries mythology, so if you are confused/have any questions, feel free to leave a review or PM me (I'm happy to answer, as I am a big fan of both)!
> 
> I love reviews, so don't be shy and write one if you have the time or inclination to do so (mainly, reviews motivate me to keep writing)!
> 
> BTW/Timeline Info for Jason Todd: Jason's stint as Robin lasted for about five years, and he started out when he was fifteen. He was captured and beaten to death by Joker at twenty. He was dead for six months before being resurrected. This timeline is a deviation from canon.
> 
> Spoilers (beware): I'm really excited for this chapter, as it introduces Jason Todd! And you get a taste of some Jason/Jen, which is one of the main pairings of this fanfiction (Granted, even though there will be more romance between these two in the future, they may or may not be endgame. That has yet to be decided. I'm not even sure I like them together as a couple, so I may end up scraping their romance lol. It all depends on how it works in the context of the story. Let me know your thoughts if you read the spoiler!).
> 
> Chapter Names: So far all of the names have been taken from songs. I plan on continuing this trend. I'm not really sure if the songs that I've picked would pair well with actually reading this fanfic, but if you have time to kill, check out the songs (they're great)!  
> I apologize for my rant; I can't help myself.
> 
> Without further ado, thank you as always for reading and I really, really hope you enjoy Chapter 3:

**Chapter 3: Love Walks In**

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_From the Diary of Mr. Thomas Stonewell. Boston, Massachusetts. December, 1774._

 

I do not know how to comprehend what has happened to me today, never mind record it in writing. I am not sure if any of it was real, or if I have been driven to insanity by God or by some other less forgiving, more malevolent force.

 

Still, despite the present waver of my hands, some whisper within my mind beckons me to unfurl my madness into the page of this most simple and humble journal. Ergo, I must start from the beginning:

 

During my jaunt to the docks, I was scrupulous in the determination of my route, given how high and bright the full moon was. I distanced myself from the more, as we say, _neglected,_ areas of Boston, or in more unequivocal language (taken directly from Abigail’s delicate lips), the city’s “more slovenly spaces.” Of course, I also had taken my pistol, which was concealed under my coat.

 

In short, dear diary, I took the necessary precautions.

 

Yet, it was not enough to keep the riff raff away. Before I could even blink, I suddenly found myself pulled into an alleyway with a knife pressed to my throat.

 

“Give me your money, eh, rich blood?” the knife-wielding ruffian said, his tone strangely perfunctory (as if thievery was some tedious routine).

 

Despite being temporarily blinded by the hooligan’s most odious aroma, I managed to retrieve my pistol from my coat pocket and attempted to shoot him, but the ruffian was surprisingly agile and slashed my throat with his knife.

 

My own blood sprayed in every direction from my neck, and I fell to the ground; yet, this did not satiate the ruffian’s need to continue stabbing me and looting me of my money. I could see no light beaming from the heavens to welcome me. Instead, there was only hard, black pavement in my field of vision and unyielding agony wailing from my most fragile human body, as I screamed and begged for mercy. I met darkness soon after this event.

 

I awoke some time later. My mouth was wrapped around a man’s bloody arm.

 

“Drink some more,” the man coaxed me.

 

I sputtered and attempted to untangle myself from the man’s grip.

 

“Stop resisting and drink. It will heal you.”

 

I am uncertain as to why I complied with this order, but something about the man’s voice convinced me that his suggestion was the only appropriate course of action. I know not how long this lasted, but the man eventually disengaged himself from me.

 

“You will tell no one of this. Meet me here tomorrow at sundown,” the man commanded. I do not know why, but I nodded immediately and knew that I would follow through with his demand.

 

I would meet this stranger again on the Holy Day. Madness. That’s all this was.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_September 2, 2013 at 7:12 pm, Alleyway Outside of Mystic Falls Bar and Grill. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

The sound of a gunshot pierced the air, and dark red blood seeped through Damon's shirt in rhythm with it.

 

Before I could scream for help or even catch a glimpse of whoever shot the gun, I felt a steel enforced grip encircle my arm and pull me away from Damon with a force that rendered any struggle against it impossible. As I was tugged further down the alleyway and away from the crime scene, Damon stood up and removed a wooden bullet from his bloody chest. Black veins overtook his face, and his eyes blared a now fiery red. He looked inhuman. Demonic. Like a creature summoned from the darkest pits of hell.

 

I sputtered in disbelief and genuine shock; he growled ferally in response. I wasn't sure if I should be more afraid of him or the force that was moving me down the alleyway as if I was nothing but air. Was the force even real? Was I moving of my own volition? Was I finally losing it?

 

Damon began to move towards me, but a crowd of people from inside the Grill rushed outside (no doubt hearing the gun shot), and Damon's face returned to its normal human glory, and he fell to the ground, yelping and whining in pain (clever bastard).

 

And then everything went up in smoke. A grey-black steam blinked into existence and completely obliterated my line of vision. I tried to scream for help again, but the smoke slithered into my mouth and crawled into every orifice inside my lungs. As I gasped for air, the world was spotty, until it wasn't anything at all.

 

_Earlier that Day, In the branches of a Willow Tree in Mystic Falls's Town Square. Jason Todd's POV:_

 

Bruce never told me there was a Lazarus Pit in this bumblefuck town in Virginia. Then again, he never did tell me much… Didn't exactly trust me. But I have to wonder: _Did he bring me back from the dead?_ The bad Robin? The one no one really wanted but got anyway? But if he had, _where_ was he?

 

Or had it been Ra's or Talia, likely hoping I'd be a thorn in the Old Bat's side while they exacted their plans of world domination and forays into eugenics?

 

I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. Everything hurt. It felt as if the crowbar had never stopped clubbing me, and Joker's laugh was as interwoven in the atmosphere as the oxygen I was breathing. Joker, the sick fuck… Would he bring me back to life just to break me again? Was it him? Wouldn't be the craziest thing he'd done.

 

My fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily, and I felt tears of anguish escape my eyes. I hated how _weak_ I was. Why was I crying? Why was I just rethinking the same shit that had been replaying on my mind since I first emerged from the pit yesterday?

 

I wanted to be rational. Gather my Intel, evaluate the situation's severity, clarify my goals, and determine how to meet them in the most efficient manner possible. I also wanted to beat down the part of myself that was so utter-fucking-ly attached to Bruce's training and belief in the "absolute adherence to rationality, as it gives us both an ethical and strategic advantage over the superstitious mindset that guides most criminals' decision making process" (classic fucking Bruce, eh?). Again, _where_ was he?

 

And then I heard her voice. I was perched on a random ass tree in the town square when her voice invaded my thoughts, and I was immediately flooded with guilt. I had randomly cursed at her in Spanish, grabbed her and shoved her against a goddamn tree, threatened to kill her, and stole her wallet (the money was used to buy a Twinkie, two packs of cigarettes, and some Mountain Dew). Fuck, I was an ass…

 

She was walking out of the town's high school (damn, she's young), right past my tree. I debated whether or not I should approach her and apologize but halted that train of thought when I saw a black haired man eyeing both the girl I had attacked earlier and a gorgeous brunette (what the fuck was in this town’s water?) walking next to her. He looked inconspicuous enough, but his eyes suddenly flashed a burning red. He was a bloodsucker (hadn't seen one since my second month as Robin)… Hm. How was he walking in sunlight? This shitty town just got a tad more interesting.

 

So, being the hero that I am (it's pathetic how that statement sounds fragile even in my own thoughts), I figured I owed it to the girl that I attacked and her little Podunk town to take down Dracula. All I needed was a gun with some wooden bullets and maybe some smoke pellets... Guess I'd be robbing the local gun shop blind.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 9:48 pm, Flowers Bed and Breakfast Outside of Mystic Falls. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

I awoke coughing. Before I could gather my bearings, an oddly familiar voice greeted me with: "You okay?"

 

I tensed and opened my eyes. Directly in front of me was the man who stole my money yesterday. He was sitting across from me on a bed (all I knew was that it wasn't mine). I had watched far too many Dateline episodes not to know _precisely_ where this was headed.

 

I opened my mouth to scream for help (Jesus, was that all I knew how to do nowadays?), but he blocked me, as one of his hands covered my mouth and the other held my wrists together to stop me from punching him.

 

"Look, sweetheart, I won't hurt you," he said, his voice thickened by an accent (New Yorker?).

 

He pressed on, "You know what you saw tonight, right? Before you passed out."

 

"I passed out?" I croaked.

 

"Shock," he explained and continued, "That man who tried to kill you tonight - he's a vampire. I shot him and brought you here to get you away from him. I'll, uh, let you go now. I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry about the other day."

 

He said everything so painfully rushed and so painfully awkward (as if it was some unavoidable circumstance that he just had to deal with) that when he removed his hands from my mouth and wrists, I completely lost my sense of self-preservation and grabbed his bicep before he could move too far from his spot on the bed.

 

"You know, my mum always told me that actions speak louder than words. So, I - I'm not accepting your apology. Not yet at least," I said. A look of utter bafflement crossed his face; I frowned.

 

Wait: what the fuck did I just say? Did I have a death wish? Why was I this stupid (and further, if I had to say something so utterly inane, why did it also have to be so cringe inducing?)? Shit, why was I even thinking about the awkwardness of my statement instead of devising a strategy to get out of the motel alive? I needed to get my priorities together.

 

This man was clearly mentally unstable, even though he saved me from Damon. Actually, that's assuming he even saved me from Damon; he might be lying. I opened my mouth in an effort to disconnect myself from what I just said as well as delineate how fucking grateful I was to him (even if it was just to save my ass from certain, impending slaughter).

 

Before a peep escaped my lips, he laughed darkly and said, "You're right, doll. But, considering the _action_ I took to save you from the bloodsucker, don't you think we can call ourselves even?"

 

As much as every neuron in my brain electrified my mind with foreboding (specifically, thoughts of jumping out of the window in order to get as far away from him as possible), a part of me was so desperate for answers that it latched onto his laugh and allowed it to embolden me to obtain further explanation.

 

And so, I ran with it: "You might have saved me from the vampire, but I'm guessing you had motivation outside of wanting to protect me that led you to do so. So, the way I see it, there's really only one way for you to earn my forgiveness."

 

"Heh, I knew it was too much to hope you'd just be a thankful little damsel in distress. What do you want, doll face?" he asked in a tone that felt almost playful.

 

"You're going to answer my questions."

 

"But I thought _words_ were nothing without action," he shot back.

 

"I told you: that's according to my mum. But she's always been dramatic. Like you."

 

He snorted and asked, "How am I dramatic?"

 

“That whole smoke trick, for one. Felt like a Criss Angel show," I said (and Jesus, was I actually trying to banter with him?).

 

He raised one of his eyebrows at my bullshit.

 

I cleared my throat and pressed on, "How many vampires are there besides Damon? How are they even real?"

 

"I don't know the answer to either of your questions," he said, after a beat. "It's all magic, I guess."

 

"How do you know about vampires?"

 

Silence followed on his end. Sighing, I asked, "How do you kill them?"

 

"Wood to the heart, fire, decapitation. Sunlight usually does it, too, but your vampire wasn't affected."

 

"Why wasn't he?"

 

"I'd fucking tell you if I knew," he sighed. He sat back down on the bed and scooted closer to the head of it. Closer to me. I tensed; his eyes drew in my obvious discomfort, and he frowned slightly.

 

"Do you know anything?" I croaked.

 

"The fuck?"

 

"I mean, yesterday… You asked me the date. Where we were. And you took my money. Why did you need it? Why were you - "

 

"Fucking hell, are you crazy? Asking me all this shit... I could kill you right now, and no one would stop me," he hissed, a sudden venom passing through his words.

 

He was right, and I'd pushed my luck with him way too far. I needed to steer the conversation away from killing and humanize myself. Isn't that the advice they always give, if you've been kidnapped? Quickly, I looked down and said, "I'm still not sure whether or not this is even real."

 

He rolled his eyes. "It's real."

 

"Doesn't feel like it."

 

"What does it feel like?"

 

"Like I'm tripping balls," I deadpanned.

 

He snorted and shook his head. "This your way of saying you want to trip over my balls, little girl?"

 

"This your way of saying you want a _little girl_ to trip over your balls?"

 

His lips twitched, enough to light up a crazed gleam in his eyes, and he leaned towards me. "You keep playing it tight with your words. Future lawyer?"

 

I fought down my urge to smile and murmured, "I'm sure you'll need one after shooting Damon. But I'd give you a discount."

 

"They won't catch me. Never have before." His voice was arrogant, but it sounded hollow.

 

I quickly said, "You were right about the whole lawyer thing. I've wanted to be one since I knew my parents were doctors."

 

"Damn. Fucking wild childhood rebellion you got going on, huh, kid?" he said.

 

"Somewhat. I just thought it was the brave choice. Really all I've ever wanted was to be brave."

 

His eyes bore deeper into mine, and I swear I witnessed something significant swim through them for a moment. Maybe it was empathy for me, or maybe he was being haunted by his own memory. But, in truth, all I could focus on now was how close we were, and fuck, this entire situation was so utterly wrong and insane and wait - was the scar on his cheek shaped like a "J"?

 

It was that observation that anchored me for a moment, and before I even realized it, the carved out J was inch worming closer to me, until it was all I could see. I opened my mouth to say something - anything to minimize this moment and make my heart not feel so heavy in my chest. But before I could breathe or even get the chance to string together a sentence, my entire grip on reality belly flopped: Jason kissed me.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 10:10 pm, Mayor Carol Lockwood's Mansion. Third Person POV:_

 

"Liz, I am the _mayor_ of this town, and I am telling you to use Damon Salvatore as a resource!" Carol said, angrily sipping her Earl Grey tea that was steaming up from her immaculately resplendent 1840s-era china cup. "And please sit! I didn't have Carla put on tea and bring out the petit fours for you to ignore them."

 

In response, Liz Forbes, Mystic Falls's sheriff and mother to one Miss Caroline Forbes, cradled her head in her hands. She had been called about a gunshot going off outside the Mystic Falls Grill and had spent about two hours interrogating Damon Salvatore, her only witness, about what had happened.

 

According to him, he had gone outside with a girl named Jennifer Hemming, but after chatting for a minute, she decided that she wanted to go home rather than hook up (Liz supposed that was the terminology the kids were using nowadays, correct?). Damon said he stayed outside to have a smoke when a vampire tried to attack and feed on him, but Damon valiantly fought the vampire with his custom-designed pistol loaded with wooden bullets. The vampire, however, somehow escaped with the gun and generated smoke as a cover (apparently, vampires had now evolved to possess other supernatural abilities aside from super strength and speed) once it heard people rushing outside.

 

Damon said it happened too fast for him to really comprehend anything, and Carol, upon hearing Damon's statement (or perhaps more accurately, seeing Damon's pretty face), was convinced that not only was Damon telling the truth, but he also would be a valuable resource in the fight against vampires. There had been an unprecedented number of animal attacks as of late, which was saying something considering Mystic Falls's rather unfortunate history with them (animal attacks, of course, being the code word for vampire feedings and kills).

 

"Liz? Are you still with me?" Carol's shrill voice punctured Liz's bubble of thoughts.

 

"Yes, yes, I'll ask Damon for some help. I'll call him sometime. Within the week... I've got other work to do," Liz said, resigned to her fate.

 

"What other work is there to be done, Liz? It's like 1864 all over again! Vampires are running amuck in our town! _Our town_ , Liz. Where are our children live and go to school! We cannot simply do noth-" Carol replied, but Liz interjected: "I know, Carol. I know. I just think that we shouldn't just rush to let Damon Salvatore, a man we've just met today, get involved in council business."

 

"He's a Salvatore. They've grown vervain for centuries. You're overthinking this, Liz!"

 

Liz wanted to burst into laughter at Carol's assessment of the situation, but remembering her position relative to Carol's, she instead said, "Before we do anything involving Damon or even the vampire, I need to talk to that Jennifer girl to confirm Damon's story. And more importantly, we need to consult the Gallaghers."

 

"About that… Liz, we need to talk. I might have done something."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading!
> 
> Quick note about that Jen/Jason kiss: There's a reason (which will be revealed in Chapter 4) for why it happened so quickly, I promise. Jen and Jason won't be getting together anytime soon.


	4. You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with another update! 
> 
> I think this chapter is really where the story begins. There are definitely some parts of the chapter where the background is established further and clarified, but for the most part, this chapter is where everything ramps up.
> 
> Quick notes before you dive in:
> 
> About Jason/Jen: I know their kiss happened fast. I have valid reasons (or at least I think my reasons are valid), which will definitely be explored in this chapter. Further explanation will be provided in my notes at the very end of the chapter.
> 
> About the plot in general: This fanfiction is pretty AU, so while some of the core mythos of both Vampire Diaries and Batman will be borrowed, I will be taking pretty significant artistic liberties in this story. Also, this story deals a lot with people's motivations and is very character driven (there's definitely a very beefy plot though), so it may be a bit heavy sometimes in terms of discussing how characters feel.
> 
> About Pairings: Please let me know what pairings you like, or what character interactions (they don't have to be romantic) you'd like to see together (I'll try to work it into the story, but no promises – I want to maintain the story's integrity and ensure my quality improves, rather than slips)! I personally ship a few of the couples (but I don't want my fangirling to cloud my judgment as a writer and dilute the quality of this story).
> 
> Spoilers (but not really, I'm just being cheeky): I think I posted a spoiler at the beginning of Chapter 3. That was stupid on my part. Moving forward, I'll save any comments about the story/the chapter until my closing author's note.
> 
> Finally: I love reviews (about anything – could be about what you hope happens next, what characters you like and dislike, and just anything you found worth noting), so don't be afraid to leave one! I also appreciate constructive criticism, as I'm always trying to improve my writing.
> 
> Here's Chapter 4 (as always, thank you for taking the time to read and please enjoy):

 

**Chapter 4: You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth**

______________________________________________________________________________

_From the Diary of Mr. Thomas Stonewell. Boston, Massachusetts. December, 1774._

 

No expense was spared in my education. I was, after all, poised to take over my father’s estate and various holdings; in truth, it is a position that I have never minded.

 

Even now, it maintains some of my interest, and yet, I must wonder… Is such a legacy really a valuable one to have? Would tales of this be spun into some grandiose collection? A collection to be cherished and admired by others? Or would my life’s story and accomplishments be relegated to genealogical trees created and exclusively viewed by my most direct descendants?

 

Could my love for sweet Abigail truly be diminished to a single line, surrounded by irrelevant details concerning the marriages and births of our respective relatives? Perhaps we would be fortunate enough to receive a footnote, scrawled in the margins of the page, to denote the proscribed nature of our connection.

 

And so, though he insists he is no emissary of God and instead asserts that he is a monster summoned by Satan, I do believe that Andrew Bennett, the vampire who saved me from certain death just last night, has awoken my spirit with an eternal purpose and an eternal legacy. A feat only possible for an agent of God to perform.

 

You see, I returned to visit him, as he commanded, on the Holy Day. While the bells’ tolls faded on tired rope and the sun’s shine mellowed on the water, his words gained greater power with every utterance.

 

Any shroud of belief that I had descended into madness was expunged; I was unsure if this was some trick of magic or the result of honest explanation. But, I’d accept it either way. I furrowed my brow and selected my words slowly, “What is it that you…”

 

“Want?” Andrew smiled. He resumed: “I want your help, Thomas… It seems I am bound to remain in the colonies.”

 

“By oath of loyalty?”

 

“By magic. I must repay a debt. And yet I need to -“

 

“Leave the colonies?”

 

“Yes, exactly. However, as we’ve already established, I am bound to this place for now, but you... You are free to travel and to go as you wish.”

 

“Where would you have me go?” I asked.

 

“So eager to do my bidding?” he raised an eyebrow.

 

“You have saved my life once, and I am thankful. If you save me again, then I am in your debt. I would help you in any of your endeavours.”

 

“You believe that…” he chuckled. “To save you is to turn you into a vampire?”

 

I frowned and opened my mouth to argue my case, but he held up his hand and said, “Do not mistake my laughter for dismissal. I wish to turn you, as it is only as a vampire that you are of any use to me.”

 

“And what use must I fulfil?”

 

“There is a device located in Transylvania. It appears as a pocketwatch of sorts, but it is, in truth, a weapon of immense power. I am in need of it.”

 

“For what purpose?”

 

“So that I may smite the world of my only love,” he said. His voice was orotund as ever, yet it was now cumbered by a pitted sadness.

 

I knew this dejection was real; I could feel every word bite through my chest. And so, I smiled and said, “I accept your terms, vampire.”

 

"Just like that? You have no further questions? You require no greater context?"

 

"No, I do not need to know more, but I do need _this_."

 

I blinked, and he cut me clean through my abdomen with his sword, before I could have the chance to view the world with human eyes one last time. Hours later, I awoke on the same craggly cobblestone with the vision and purpose of another being.

 

And so, dear diary, it was on the Holy Day that I rose again, not as a messiah, but as a vampire.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 3:02 am, Office in Gotham University's Cobb Building in Gotham City. Third Person POV:_

 

Author of several books and academic publications, beloved (or more significantly: tenured) professor at Gotham University, and recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer Prize for History, Dr. Kimberly Ocelot was at the top of her field: mythology and its role in ancient societies' economies, governments, and legislation. Granted, there was not much competition for her to best; Dr. Ocelot's field was rather narrow, and it didn't come with the same glory or clout as other academic fields, like say neurosurgery.

 

Still, she worked hard because she loved her area of expertise (and not at all because she was trying to escape her past, no sir). It was why she was currently holed up in her office at the ungodly hour of three in the morning (armed only with a now cold cup of coffee). Tonight, her objective was to wrap up her paper on the mythical adarna and its impact on medicinal practices in the Philippines. As she pondered how to phrase a particular sentence to sound just a touch more pretentious, she made the grave mistake of looking up from her desk.

 

Standing right across from her was _the_ Batman. She contained her gasp and immediately attributed her failure to sense another presence in her office to her general fatigue and unyielding concentration on her paper, as opposed to the more likely (and scarier) explanation that Batman's abilities were now beyond her wheelhouse.

 

"Batman," the utterance escaped her before she could conjure up a more witty introductory statement.

 

"Dr. Ocelot," he saluted her. His voice was deep and more than a little intimidating.

 

"What can I help you with?" she asked.

 

"I'd appreciate it if you could tell me anything you know about this man," Batman said. He procured a photograph from the depths of his billowing (how did it billow when there was no wind?) cape.

 

She grasped the photograph gingerly and inspected the man it depicted. While he was pristinely dressed (were those the latest Salvatore Ferragamo shoes?), the vision of him was extirpated by the expression contorted onto his face; it was an absurd cocktail of emotions that made the picture seem as if his static countenance was, in actuality, a living pendulum, oscillating between mania and serenity.

 

"That's…" she breathed and faltered, as a memory seeped into her brain.

 

"Do you know him? According to my sources, he's in league with Ra's."

 

"I… I never knew him personally, but…"

 

"But?" Batman prompted her to continue.

 

"Immortality has always been important to Ra's."

 

"Yes, of course. He has the Lazarus Pit for that."

 

"He has two actually, but - "

 

"Two? Where is the second?"

 

"Will you let me finish? You can ask questions afterwards," Kim sighed. "Yes, it's true that the Lazarus Pits allow Ra's to extend his life, but as you know, using the Pits repeatedly dampen their effects over time. Ra's always wanted something more permanent. Besides, using the Pits come with side effects. Acting on impulse and emotion is a big one. Your worst nightmare, I'm sure."

 

"And how does Ra's hope to achieve immortality without all of the setbacks?" Batman asked, his tone slightly (almost imperceptibly) irascible.

 

"By becoming a vampire."

 

"That doesn't explain why Ra's is in league with the man in the photograph."

 

"Well, the man in the photograph is a vampire."

 

"But why does Ra's consort with him? There are many vampires around the globe."

 

"Andrew Bennett," Kim's smile turned lascivious at a memory long since passed.

 

"Again, I'll ask: what differentiates _this_ vampire from other vampires?"

 

"I don't know, but I do know that I've seen his face _several_ times, and he and Ra's worked together frequently. But…" Kim trailed off.

 

Batman's entire form exuded impatience, as he awaited further explanation from Kim.

 

"There's a man… I think he can help you with this. He specializes in all things vampire."

 

"His name?" Batman pressed.

 

"Alexander Purdue."

 

"And the second Lazarus Pit?"

 

"What?”

 

“You mentioned -” Batman began, but Kim interrupted, understanding his meaning, “Oh. Located in some little backwater town in Virginia. I think it's called Magic Falls or something?"

 

_September 2, 2013 at 10:13 pm, Flowers Bed and Breakfast Outside of Mystic Falls. Jason Todd's POV:_

 

"Somewhat. I just thought it was the brave choice. Really all I've ever wanted was to be brave," she (I realized in that moment that I still did not know her name) said.

 

Then, she looked at me. She was a cute girl; I'd give her that. I couldn't help but think that if maybe she were a little less naïve and a lot less foolish, or if I had met her in a world that was a lot less fucked up, then I would have done well with a girl like her.

 

So, giving into an impulse that I was only vaguely conscious of, I kissed her. I guess I wanted to reclaim an inkling of the foolishness that I had lost along the way. Fuck, why was I being so sentimental? I was never exactly innocent.

 

With that in mind, I let go of her face and broke our little six-second kiss. Some fucking make-out, eh? I peered into her now wide eyes to get a read on her emotions, but the only thing that caught my notice was the reflection in them.

 

It revealed the image of a Shadow (I should have known they’d come for me) perched on a tree near our window. Fucking Peeping Tom. He was holding something - a something that he suddenly threw directly at us.

 

My training kicked in.

 

As the window shattered, I grabbed the girl and dived over the bed to the other side.

 

"Stay here," I ordered.

 

"What?" she squealed.

 

I jumped back over the bed and kicked the Shadow, who had entered the room, in the chest. The Shadow's head hit the wall, and I leaped forward, pounding him with punches. However, he quickly recovered and swiped at me with a blade. I ducked in time and gave a quick jab to his leg.

 

"Argh!" the Shadow intoned and brought his blade down to my arm.

 

I used my unoccupied hand to pull back his arm, and I jammed the knife toward his throat. He gripped my arm with his free hand in an attempt to stop me from ramming the blade clean through his throat.

 

I could, theoretically, knock him out and allow him to live. But then he'd just wake up and go back to killing in the name of Ra's al Ghul.

 

The Shadow tried to take advantage of my hesitation; he rammed his knee up, but I saw it coming - I could fucking hear Bruce mutter "mind the knees" during training - and plunged the blade into the Shadow's throat. Blood squirted out from the sides of the cut, splatter painting my face, shirt, pants, and eventually shoes, by the time the Shadow had slumped into a heap on the ground.

 

"It's over," I said to the girl. My voice somehow felt lighter than before.

 

She wobbled but managed to stand.

 

"You - " she began, but her voice wavered, as she caught sight of the Shadow's corpse. _Please don't cry,_  I begged internally.

 

"We need to leave," I said, glancing at my now cracked watch.

 

"The man -"

 

"Was sent to kill us," I interjected. In truth, I had no idea why the Shadow had come, but I didn't want to stay and find out when more Shadows inevitably showed up in search of their deceased comrade. "We need to go, doll face. Now."

 

I maneuvered around the bed, grabbed her shaking hand, and led her to the now open window.

 

"Here," I said, as I wrapped my right arm around her waist. Her eyes glimmered with a fiery warning.

 

"Calm down. I'm a gentleman. I won't steal your virtue," I said, before she could argue further. With the girl in tow, I jumped out of the window and onto the tree that the Shadow had perched on earlier and scaled us down to the ground below.

 

"Jesus," she exhaled, clearly distressed.

 

"I know I'm divine, sweet cheeks, but that's not my name."

 

"Right. I forgot; it's jackass," she shot back, as her eyes burned with renewed ire.

 

"Where's your house? I'll take you," I said, rolling my eyes at her comment.

 

"No way in hell you're walking me home. I don't know you, and - " she protested, backing away from me.

 

"Jason. I'm Jason," I said. Hopefully, my name would mollify her enough to just let me get her home safely (Shit, had I really offended a higher power so much that I had to prove myself by walking this fucking high school girl home?).

 

"Do you have a last name, Jason?" she spat.

 

"I've got a shit memory, but maybe it'll reboot if you tell me yours."

 

She sighed, and I could almost see the gears in her head whirring and assessing her options.

 

"Jennifer Heathcliff," she said. She sniffed and added in a strained voice (as if her admission somehow pained her), "I- I owe you a thank you for saving my life."

 

"Twice."

 

"Yes, well, as much as I appreciate it, I'll find my way home alone," Jennifer said.

 

"Why? You think I'm not the type of guy to take home to Mom," I teased.

 

"Well, she was the one that warned me about stranger danger, and I don't know you."

 

"Wayne," I gave her a fake last name. Granted, I guess I could've been a bit more creative with the last name. But hey, it wasn't like she made any real effort to be ingenious when she gave me her bullshit fake name: Jennifer _Heathcliff _.__

 

"Huh?" her voice nudged me out of my thoughts.

  

"My last name. It's Wayne. My name's Jason Wayne. Now you know me, and I know you, so I get to walk your ass home," I spelled it out for her.

  

_September 2, 2013 at 9:07 pm, Sheila Bennett's Residence in Mystic Falls. Third Person POV:_

 

"Ahhh, we haven't done this in _so_ long!" screeched Caroline.

 

"A sleepover? Caroline, you, me, and Elena have had sleepovers at least once a week since we were like six years old," Bonnie said.

  

"Exactly. A week is more than enough time for you to let yourself go and allow your nail polish to chip," Caroline said. She looked pointedly at Bonnie's cracked periwinkle manicure.

  

"I happen to think it gives me character," Bonnie said.

 

"Sure, if your character is a boring dorky ass virgin," Caroline snooted back.

  

"Caroline," Bonnie sighed.

 

"What? We're forced to hang out with one thanks to your boyfriend. You know, Jen?"

 

"Stop, Care. She’s… She’s a nice person."

  

"Are you telling me or asking me, Bonnie? And besides, aren't you worried that she's going to try and foist her fugly Poindexter ass onto your man? You know that homebody bitch is just starving for attention."

  

"Clarence is a good guy. He wouldn't cheat. Besides, I think Jen met someone last night.”

 

"Was his name Quasimodo?"

 

"No, he was actually pretty hot -“ Bonnie began.

 

"Wait! Why wasn't I alerted?" Caroline interrupted.

 

Bonnie rolled her eyes and continued, "Because something really crazy happened. Get this, Care. She nearly went home with him, but -“

  

“Isn’t the crazy part that he nearly went home with her?” Caroline jumped in again.

 

“Stop being mean. Listen. Anyway, Jen ended up leaving for whatever reason, but I guess, when she left, he got attacked by an animal. He shot it and is fine, thank God, but it’s all over the news."

  

"Wait, so, she didn’t fuck him?” Caroline said, inspecting her charm bracelet.

  

"That's all you took away from that story? Care, there was another animal attack. The fifth this month! I feel like something's wrong."

  

"More like something's wrong with her."

 

"Please stop," Bonnie said. She rubbed her eyes.

 

"Exactly how I feel about Elena and Stefan. How long is the movie they are supposedly seeing?"

 

The doorbell rang, and Bonnie's grandmother, Sheila Genevieve Bennett, called out not a second later, "Elena's here for you girls!"

  

Bonnie and Caroline bounced downstairs to greet their best friend (though, "bounced" may be more apt for describing Caroline's movements, as Bonnie more or less ambled her way to her friend).

 

"Oh my God, Elena! Hi! Bonnie and I were just talking about how great it would be if you and Stefan signed up for the kissing booth on Thursday," Caroline trilled.

 

Bonnie nearly choked on her hot chocolate.

 

"Um, I don't know, Care. I'll have to ask Stefan," Elena replied.

  

"It's a fundraiser for cancer. Tell him to have a heart, bitch," Caroline said. "Besides, Bonnie and I are doing it. We'll have a blast."

 

"What? I don't know - " Bonnie began, but Caroline shushed her, "Get Clarence in on it, too. The more, the merrier! Now come on, we've got nails to paint."

  

_September 2, 2013 at 10:42 pm, Redding Street in Mystic Falls. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

I was going absolutely crazy. Apparently, vampires were real (science who?), and the man who randomly stole my money yesterday had just saved my life. Twice. He also kissed me (worse, I sort of liked it and now sounded like a goddamn Katy Perry song) and was currently walking me home (which I only permitted given that Damon was likely prowling the streets of Mystic Falls, ready to kill me, and I desperately needed protection). What the fuck was going on? I needed answers.

  

But, I was also an absolute chicken shit. I guess the adrenaline that had emboldened me earlier had completely worn off and had rendered me incapable of any oratory function.

  

I wanted to pummel myself for my behavior earlier, as I had both insulted and felt giddy towards a man who I did not know at all and whose motives for saving me remained elusive. I needed to play this smart and be nice, if he engaged me in conversation again; after all, I didn't want my severed head to end up in his refrigerator.

 

"I know you're scared. It's okay. I won't hurt you. Neither will that man. I mean, he's dead and everything, but he was after me, anyway," Jason said. He sounded weirdly exasperated, as if his attempt at comforting me was a punishment of some kind.

  

I swallowed and forced myself to speak, "Why was he after you?"

 

"I'm a wanted man," he said. His tone allowed no space for any further inquiry.

  

Wow, thanks fool. That totally cleared everything up. Instead of risking my life to make that comment, however, I opted for the marginally more appropriate response of: "A real life international man of mystery, huh?"

  

"An Austin Powers reference, huh, doll face?" he asked, his lips straining up. I nodded and suppressed the smile that was threatening to blossom onto my face.

 

We fell silent for a moment. The artificial glow of the streetlights carved features into the facades of the Victorian houses that we passed by; oh yes, Mystic Falls owed its stunning architecture to British settlers who brought over their beautiful Victorian style, as they left their homeland in order to evade taxes (my history teacher, Mr. Saltzman, indefatigably drilled us on that piece of information despite its questionable relevance to our curriculum). It all would have been so romantic if Jason and I were just a boy and a girl walking home from a date.

  

Of course, the boy I was with had just killed someone. Granted, he was saving my life, but I couldn't help but feel an undeniable pang of empathy for the dead man. The way he died was so violent and inhumane... Besides, whose place was it to decide whether or not someone lives or dies? I don't think Jason or any individual could ever be the sole arbiter of such a significant matter, though the dead man clearly wanted to murder us both, so I guess I'm back to square one: feeling a great deal of thankfulness towards Jason Wayne (if that was even his real name).

 

Speaking of the dead man's obvious murderous intent, why did he use a knife instead of a gun? Wouldn't a gun have been more efficient? In hopes of segwaying Jason into a conversation and gaining some clarity on the situation, I asked Jason why the dead man didn't use a gun.

 

Jason doubled over in laughter, but upon recovering from his unexpected laughing fit, he said, "Million dollar question right there." 

 

"Was the, um, dead man connected to Damon?"

 

"Fuck if I know," he said, his tone was again abrupt and annoyed. 

 

"You, um… Never answered my question earlier."

 

Granted, he really hadn’t answered any of my questions to my satisfaction. Jason, of course, made no comment on this; he instead sniffed and glanced at his fractured watch in blatant disinterest.

 

"Why didn't you know the year? Or where you were?" I pressed. I knew I should have just stuck to my agenda of asking Jason questions about vampires, but I was curious about him.

  

"Not gonna grill me about taking your money this time?" he asked, running a hand through the white streak in his hair.

 

"After everything you've done to help me out, you've earned it. And besides, you probably needed it more than me," I answered honestly. 

 

He paused and studied me for a long moment before saying blankly, "I was in a coma for six months. Woke up. Wandered out of the hospital, walked for miles, and ended up stumbling into you. I wasn't thinking straight, and I'm sorry about that day."

  

"Don't worry about it… And, um, thank you, Jason. For everything," I said. I didn't believe what he said for a second, but I could certainly still appreciate that he saved my life twice. I really hoped it was because he was a good person and not because he had some scary ulterior motive (even though the latter was far more likely – he certainly had the scars to suggest that this was not his first rodeo). 

 

He nodded. After a beat, he asked, "Why do you think being a lawyer is brave? Is it just because you think you're being a fucking rebel or some shit?"

  

I contained my surprise that he asked such a personal question but replied earnestly: "No, I mean… I guess being a lawyer is a brave choice for me… Not just on a personal level but also a public one." 

 

Jason said nothing.

 

"Personally, I've always been kind of shy. Shy as in… I like to stay in my comfort zone, and I rarely leave it…" I trailed off, trying to find the right way to articulate my feelings (only to immediately question why I was even talking to him about this, about something as personal as my lifelong dream).

  

He grunted in response.

 

I took the hint and resumed speaking, "But being a lawyer doesn't allow you to do that. It requires you to get out of your comfort zone and get in the middle of the action. You have to defend a point of view. But, in order to even do that, you have to solve the mystery, whatever it may be... You can only rely on your own ability to create a cohesive composite of what you know and what you've learned in order to get the right answer. That demands confidence in yourself and in your abilities, and I think that sort of confidence mandates its own kind of bravery. Publicly, it's brave because once you have the answers, you have to make a stand and persuade everyone that you're right."

 

He looked at me, appearing to be thoroughly annoyed with my long response (though, I could've sworn his eyes also glinted with that little haunted flash, which had debuted right before he kissed me).

  

He grunted, "You think you’re shy? You just gave me a fucking sermon, kid."

  

"Well, you can't afford to be shy when you need answers. I mean, we were in two life or death scenarios together, and I had no idea what was happening during either one. I still don't… And besides, this is the last time I'll ever see you." 

 

"Why are you so sure that this is the last time we’ll see each other?" he asked. He managed to sound a sixteenth of an octave more alive than before.

 

"Because we just reached my house, and my dad owns a shotgun," I said. We were, in actuality, standing seven houses down from Clarence's house (and eight houses down from mine), as I did not want to take any risks by showing Jason where I lived.

 

 

 

He said, in a now inexplicably playful tone, "Trying to lure me into a shotgun wedding, doll face? I'll call the minister; you get the white dress."

 

 

 

I allowed myself to say, "My dad will insist you pay a dowry."

 

 

 

"A dowry goes the other way around, sweet cheeks. The man is given the moola, but I guess if that's how you like your roleplay…"

 

 

 

"I’d have to tip you handsomely for your services?" I finished his sentence for him.

 

 

 

Jason snorted, a curl twitching up on his lips, in response to my (admittedly terrible prostitution) joke and said, "But sweetheart, you already gave me money for my services, remember? I gotta pay you back. So, how do you want it?"

 

 

 

"A check in the mail will do just fine." 

 

He smirked and gave a grand, thespian effort to look at both the street sign and the number on the mailbox, and then, bereft any ceremony, he made his move to leave.

 

"Wait! Aren't you staying?" I called out. I regretted it, as I said it.

  

"Why? You want another kiss? If we do this, doll, we gotta make it quick. I've got business to take care of elsewhere," he hollered back, as his walk slowed in pace for further comedic effect.

  

"I'm not asking you to stay for me. Stay for Damon! Help me -" I stumbled through my words, as I was still trying to convalesce from the effect Jason’s words had on me (Jesus, why was I so weak?), but he interrupted me: “Stop him?"

 

"Yes, exactly. But -" I began, but Jason once again interjected, "I’ll come back, and I'll help you stop him. For now, I have to leave, so while I'm gone, stay out of trouble and get yourself some vervain to protect against the vampire's compulsion."

  

"Compulsion?"

  

"The reason why you didn't scream when he bit you," he said slowly, as if I was a child. "Vampires can persuade you to do whatever the fuck they want, if you don't have vervain on you or in your bloodstream… It's a plant. Pretty rare in these parts, but you can find it. Anyway, good luck, sweetheart. You'll need it."

 

"You too," I managed to squeak out. He smirked at my (rather pathetic) reciprocation and disappeared into the night.

 

Once I was certain Jason was gone, I dashed to Clarence's house. His front door was all glass, so I peered inside and saw Clarence sitting with his parents, Sheriff Forbes, and Mayor Carol Lockwood (who was, as always, thoroughly primped and powdered in her clown makeup) in Clarence's living room. They looked like they were having an intense conversation, so rather than interrupt, I decided to snoop.

 

I scurried to the side of the house that the living room was located on and ducked down into the shrubbery that wreathed Clarence's house. And so I listened:

  

"You sent our son to _Alexander Purdue_ for help?!" Mr. Gallagher was shaking in his anger.

 

"Alexander has helped our town fight vampires in the past, and Clarence wanted to know more about his family history. Of course I sent Clarence to him! I mean, the Gallaghers are vampire hunters, after all. Or did you forget?" Carol Lockwood huffed, but was interrupted when Mrs. Gallagher jumped into the conversation, "You had no right to send my son to that criminal! To that scum! He -"

 

Sheriff Forbes got up from her seat and said, "Mrs. Gallagher, as much as -"

  

"I asked for this because I _wanted_ it. Aunt Carol didn’t make me do anything. Mum. Dad. You both always told me stories about your adventures -" Clarence cut off Sheriff Forbes, but Mrs. Gallagher interjected her son: "Adventure? You think that being a hunter is an _adventure_? That's what you took away from our stories? Clarence, this isn't fun and games. This is life and death! We told you about our past so that you wouldn't make our mistakes and follow in our footsteps."

 

Mrs. Gallagher cleared her throat and continued, "You don't do this. You don't go behind our back to your psycho Aunt Carol who thinks it's okay to allow a teenage boy to fulfill his fantasy of becoming a goddamn vampire hunter!"

 

"It's his destiny, Janie," Mayor Lockwood addressed her younger sister, Mrs. Gallagher. "Both the Lockwood family and the Gallagher family come from ancient vampire hunter bloodlines. Clarence is a combination of both, which means he is meant to do great things; he is meant to fulfill his duty to the council -"

  

"To the council? Bullshit! All you care about is that you can use my son, my fucking baby, as an excuse to fuck around with Alex!" Mrs. Gallagher screamed at her sister.

 

Mayor Lockwood swallowed hard and seemed to be concocting an equally biting retort when Sheriff Forbes suddenly launched from her seat and said, "It's been a long day. We're all stressed. I think we should all just take a beat and discuss this later."

  

She turned to Clarence's parents and said, "Both of you have made it clear that neither of you nor your son are going to be involved in the council or in hunting down the vampire. Carol and I respect that and will honor your wishes."

  

Mayor Lockwood opened her mouth to protest further, but Sheriff Forbes cut her off, "I'll have Damon help out with the vampire case. We'll be fine. Our town will be fine. Let's go, Carol."

 

"So I don't get a say in this? In _my_ future?" Clarence asked. He radiated frustration.

 

"No, Clarence, you don't know what you're trying to get yourself into. Go to bed. Your father and I need to talk," Mrs. Gallagher said. Her voice left no space for argument, so Clarence complied with her order.

 

I smiled. Now was my chance to talk to him. A sycamore tree partitioned Clarence's house and mine. We often used it to access each other's rooms and chat when we had been grounded or just needed to talk (it was a staple of our twelve year long friendship). So, I hauled ass up the tree, sat on the precarious ledge afforded by Clarence's window, and waved to garner his attention.

 

He smiled and opened his window.

 

"You look like hell. Where've you been? I've been fucking calling you for ages," he asked, as I slid inside his room.

 

"Where do I even start?" I sighed before launching into the entire story. The key point was of course that Damon was a vampire who tried to kill me, but I was miraculously saved by the dude who stole my money yesterday. I also told Clarence about the man Jason killed at the motel as well as everything Jason had told me about vampires (which Clarence confirmed as facts). I expected some inkling of disbelief from Clarence (even though I just learned that he and his family were apparently vampire hunters); instead, he nodded at appropriate times during my story and asked valid questions. He believed me. And that's when it all sunk in. Everything that had happened today was real. I wanted to scream.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 11:12 pm, Stefan Salvatore's Loft at the Salvatore Boarding House in the Outskirts of Mystic Falls, Stefan Salvatore's POV:_

  

I had just gotten home from the movies with Elena (and I swear! I swear I could feel my heart beat, as if I were human again); before heading to bed, however, I pulled out my journal and wrote:

 

_There is another vampire in town. I don't know who it is, but there have been multiple "animal attacks," and I need to get to the bottom of it. For the town's safety. But, more importantly, for Elena's safety._

 

 _Elena. I could say her name over and over again. I know how foolish that sounds, but just a few months ago when I rescued her after her car drove off of Wickery Bridge_ _and into the river, I was sure that I needed to end it. My life, that is._

 

_I have lived lifetimes of misery (often thanks to Damon, who has promised me an eternity of it), but I suppose living in unyielding anguish is a suitable punishment for the sins that I committed in my human life; I needed my vampiric one as a chance at redemption. I've done my best to dedicate myself to both the protection of the human race and to my own self-control…_

 

 

_Returning to the subject of Elena... She has gifted me with a strange sort of hope and a newfound determination to live. I hope to_

  

My concentration was shattered when I heard a knock on my balcony door. Looking up, I saw _him_. As he dismissively pushed aside the door and entered my room, I allowed his name to pass from my lips: “Damon.”

 

He smirked and said, "Hello, brother."

 

"What are you doing here?" I said, standing.

 

 

"I think the better question is: 'what are _you_ doing here?' Hmmm..." Damon's smirk gleamed, as he exhibited his canines. "Pop quiz, class! Is Stefan here for A) Elena, B) Elena, or C) _Elena_?"

 

 

"How do you know about her?" I growled.

 

“No wonder you still haven’t graduated high school after all of these years. You’re so stupid; you didn’t even realize that I've been in Mystic Falls just as long as you have," he drawled, lazily.

 

Smirking at me, he continued, in a lighter tone, "But, I guess it's hard to pay attention when there's a girl like Elena in town. She's a dead ringer for Katherine."

 

"You were responsible for all of those animal attacks?" I asked, desperately trying to change the subject away from Elena.

 

"Of course! Who else?" Damon let out a low whistle. "Your senses are dull, Stefan. Thanks to your diet. You need human blood. _Elena's_ blood would do quite nicely, I think."

 

 

I didn't think; the way he enunciated Elena's name made me spring into action and lunge for him. Damon grabbed my throat and slammed me over my desk table, causing it to snap in two, and he spat in my ear, "Your ridiculous diet of puppy blood and rainbows has made you weak, little brother. Watch your back. I know I'll be watching Elena's."

 

He released my throat with a mocking laugh and dissipated into the night.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 11:24 pm, Clarence's House in Mystic Falls. Jennifer Hemming's POV:_

 

After I finished my story, Clarence rubbed his eyes and said, "I doubt that Jason guy is connected to Damon… He's definitely not a vampire. I think he's probably a vampire hunter passing through town. A real vagabond type by the sounds of it. I don't know, but I'm just really fucking happy you're okay."

 

We hugged, and I asked him, "But are you okay? I, uh, kinda listened in on your whole conversation with Sheriff Forbes, your Aunt Carol, and your parents… What's going on, Clarence? Are you okay? Are-"

 

He interrupted me, "Yeah, I'm okay. I just…"

 

 

He motioned for me to sit and said, "It's a long story, and I kept you out of it because I thought I was protecting you, and I didn't wanna burden you with this bullshit."

 

 

"Clarence, you could never burden me. We're best friends. Whatever is going on, I want to know. I want to help."

 

"I know that now, and after everything you went through tonight…" he trailed off and paused before launching into his story, "Mystic Falls's history can basically just be explained through vampires. It's some sort of magical hot spot, I guess. And because of that, a need for vampire hunters arose. Some families in Mystic Falls became vampire hunters… The Gallaghers and Lockwoods both did at least. They fought vampires for generations, but my parents stopped when they had me. They'd always tell me stories about it as a kid, but I never believed them until all of the recent animal attacks. I mean, what kind of animal causes bodies to be drained of blood?"

 

 

He paused, sipped some water, and continued bitterly, "Anyway, I put the pieces together and told my parents that I wanted to help them do something about the vampire problem. They, of course, told me that it wasn't _our_ problem anymore. They were retired, and they didn't want their precious fucking baby getting involved in the family vampire hunting business that they had quit years ago. They said it was too dangerous. Too much for me to handle. They forbade me from getting involved."

 

 

He looked down and huffed. I rubbed circles on his back and murmured, "Clarence, I know you're angry because you want to do something good and help this town, but your parents aren't doing this because they think you're incapable. They're doing it because they love you."

 

"I know that," his voice softened. "I just – I just want to help. Make a difference… I just…"

 

 

I nodded and waited for him to continue. He said, "Sometimes, I just feel so aimless, you know? Just fucking useless. I feel like I don't have a purpose or a role in life, and then I see you and how much you do. Not just with school, but I mean, you know what you want to do with your life. Law. You know how you're going to make a difference, but I didn't until I learned more about my family history… And now, I want to be a vampire hunter. I mean, it's fucking badass for one, but… It's a legacy. My legacy. Or at least it should be."

 

I said, "Just because you don't have a trajectory mapped out now doesn't mean you won't eventually. You'll find your calling, Clarence. You don't have to force yourself to become a hunter just because you feel a need to carve a niche for yourself. Opportunities will come your way, you'll find what you love, and you'll make a difference in whatever you end up doing. You're too smart and too talented not to."

 

"But that's the thing. I _know_ that my calling is to become a vampire hunter. I know it sounds crazy and like I'm on some shit, but I just feel it in my blood," he said.

 

I nodded and said, "Okay, fine. Becoming a hunter is how you will make a difference. I support you. But, you're not starting now. I can't have my best friend being killed before we graduate high school. We'll go to the sheriff and tell her about Damon. She'll handle it for now, and later, when you're ready, you can be the greatest vampire hunter who ever lived."

 

"No, Jen, we can't go to Sheriff Forbes!" Clarence said. His eyes were wild.

 

"Why the fuck not?"

 

"It's… Complicated."

 

"Un-complicate it then."

 

 

He sighed and said, "That's... A long story. Let me first just tell you everything else I know. Then, we'll get to that. Where do you want to start?"

 

 

"The council, for one."

 

"Right, well, back in the day, like I'm talking centuries in the past, the Gallaghers and the Lockwoods created a council in Mystic Falls. The council basically served to protect Mystic Falls from vampires, and it's still around today. It consists of all of the founding families."

 

 

"That includes the Gilberts. Do Elena and Jeremy know?"

 

"I've got no idea, but even if they did, who gives a shit?"

 

"Fair enough. Okay, so, Alexander Purdue? Is he actually relevant, or is he just trying to creep into your aunt's panties?" I asked.

 

 

"Both, honestly. Basically, to make a long story short, Alex and Aunt Carol used to fuck around, and she got pregnant, but my grandparents forced her to give up her son and made Alex dump her."

 

 

"Wait, what the fuck? That's heavy shit. How did they make him dump her? And you called him Alex not Alexander… How well do you know him, exactly!?" I sputtered. He'd thrown me for a loop.

 

 

"Easy, cowgirl. I'm getting there. I don't know the specifics; Alex wouldn't tell me, but I think he was involved in some illegal shit, and my grandparents threatened to expose him as a criminal to the police, unless he ended things with her. So, he left, and the baby was given up because, you know, the fucking shame of having a baby out of wedlock was too much for my aunt to bear. All bullshit, but you know them…"

 

"Why do you think he was involved in criminal activity? And what sort of illegal operation was he apart of? Like organized crime or -"

 

 

"Jesus Christ, Jen," Clarence sighed. He smashed his face into his hand.

 

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing. You're just relentless," he smiled.

 

 

"Well, bitch, I wouldn't have to be if you would just get on with answering my questions."

 

 

"That's Mr. Bitch to you."

 

 

I rolled my eyes. "Please continue, _Mr._ Bitch."

 

"I don’t know that much about Alex’s criminal activities, as you called them. But, here’s the thing. He has a bunch of journals at his house-"

 

 

"Hold up! You went to his house?" I interrupted him.

 

"I mean, yeah. Aunt Carol sent me. Just because they can't be together anymore-"

 

 

"Who says that? They're adults now; your grandparents are dead. It's not like they can control her or threaten him anymore," I interrupted him again.

 

 

"You're right, but you know how she is. She's all about her fucking reputation. Besides, she's got a kid with Richard; she doesn't want to leave her husband and son for some guy who used to sell meth."

 

"He _sold_  meth...? Why didn’t you just say that upfront?" I sputtered. 

 

Clarence's eyes narrowed to slits, so I sighed and asked him, "Anyway, did you find out all of this from the journals at his house?"

 

 

"Yeah, I did. But it's not just his own personal journals that he has at his house. He has a whole collection of journals from founding family members since like the 1700s, vampires whose journals he has stolen, and even some witches."

 

 

"Witches are a thing, now, too?" I exclaimed. This was just too fucking wild.

 

"Yeah, apparently."

 

"Werewolves?"

 

 

"Wouldn't doubt it."

  

"Okay, so, your Aunt Carol sent you to Alex for help, but can you clarify what the fuck she meant by help? Like, I'm assuming he's a hunter of some kind."

 

"No shit. Back when Alex and her were dating, he helped her fight vampires. She sent me to him because apparently he had some book that I needed to learn if I wanted to become a powerful hunter. But, he burned it -" Clarence said, but I interrupted, "Wait, so not only is this dude a goddamn drug dealer, but he also burns books? Is he a part of some fascist gang? Is he trying to get you to join the Hitler Youth and -"

 

Clarence interrupted my interruption with: "Jesus fucking Christ, Jen. Can I finish the goddamn story?"

 

 

"Sorry, sorry! I got carried away. Go on."

 

He continued, "Anyway, he burned the book. No idea why, but he memorized it and began teaching me this summer."

 

 

"Teaching you what exactly?"

 

 

"Have you been paying attention at all? To be a fucking vampire hunter!"

 

"No shit, Sherlock. What skills - I mean, what has he even taught you to do? Like, could you take down Damon?"

 

 

"No, I couldn't. Not yet, at least. Basically, he just went over how to kill and subdue vampires and our family history and just shit like that. Nothing he taught me has been really groundbreaking, but his journal collection... There's some interesting shit there, and I've got a few theories."

 

"Lay it down on me."

 

 

"Sexy," he said. I gagged on my own spit.

 

 

Clarence laughed, but he quickly recovered and asked, "Anyway, what was I saying?"

 

"Journals?"

 

 "Journals? Oh, right. One of the journals in Alex's collection was written by Stefan Salvatore. Dated back to 1932."

 

"Wait… Do you mean... As in the Stefan that's dating Elena? How do you know it was him and not an ancestor he was named after?"

 

"His picture was in the journal. Looked exactly like him, and it was dated sometime in the 50's. Actually, it was a picture of him and _Damon_. The same Damon at the Grill," he said.

 

 

"The same one that tried to kill me…"

 

"Yeah. It gets weirder. In Stefan's journal, it's made pretty clear that he and his brother are vampires, and he made it even more clear that Damon was his _evil_ vampire brother."

  

"Fuck, so that's why you don't want to go to the council about Damon? To protect Stefan?" I asked softly.

 

"Stefan's journal talked about how he wanted to protect humanity from other vampires like Damon; Stefan feeds on deer blood, while Damon relishes in killing and drinking from people... Anyway, Stefan wants to do good, Jen. Make a difference. Like us. We can't expose him. Not even to the council," Clarence said seriously.

 

"But you said the council wanted to protect people from vampires. The council and Stefan have a common goal; why would they fuck it up by trying to kill him?"

 

"The council sees things as black and white, Jen. They so much as hear the word vampire, and they have pitchforks in their hands, ready to skewer anyone who so much as sounds sympathetic to said vampire."

  

I thought hard for a moment. I hardly knew Stefan, and after learning about his vampirism, my trust in him dwindled to a degree less than zero. But, I couldn't just write him off because he was a vampire. Some humans were good; some were bad. The same rule applied to vampires. I owed Stefan a chance, even if that chance just meant that I didn't immediately turn him in to Sheriff Forbes (though, in my opinion, he was still a creepy quasi-pedophile, given his romance with Elena)…

 

Knowing my choice (and internally damning and second guessing myself for choosing it), I nodded and said, "Okay, I won't say anything about Stefan, but that doesn't mean I think we should trust him. Who knows if what he wrote in his journal was even sincere?"

 

"Alex vouched for him. He said Stefan was one of the good ones."

 

"So you trust him? A book-burning dope peddler?" I pressed.

 

"With this, yes. He's a hunter, Jen. He's got no reason to defend Stefan. But, there's something else you should know."

 

"Which is?"

 

"The last journal I read… It talked about a vampire named Klaus. Apparently, Klaus was the first vampire ever to exist, he's super powerful, and he has a ton of vampire followers," Clarence began.

 

"You sound so impressed," I said.

 

He rolled his eyes and continued, "Anyway… There's some sort of curse on him that limits his power. The journal didn't explain what the curse was, but Klaus wants to break it. It didn't really get into what he needed to break it either, but the journal did mention something about how he would need a doppelgänger to make a sacrifice to some goddess. A doppelgänger is-"

  

"A living double of yourself. What goddess is the sacrifice even for?"

  

"Who cares what goddess? I don't know! And how do you even know what a doppel-" Clarence began, but I was eager to hear the rest of the legend, so I interrupted him again, "I'm Dr. Ocelot's research assistant, remember? She specializes in mythology."

  

"Right, well, he needs a human doppelgänger to break the curse. The only doppelgänger he could find was named Katerina Petrova, but she turned into a vampire, so he couldn't use her as a sacrifice to break the curse. The thing is, when she became a vampire, she began calling herself Katherine Pierce. In Stefan's journal, he mentions that he used to love a vampire named Katherine Pierce. It has to be the same Katherine; it's too much of a coincidence. What if Stefan's trying to kill Klaus to protect her?" Clarence asked me.

 

"But if he's still hung up on Katherine, why is he dating Elena? He's obviously ass-to-the-moon smitten with her, after only knowing her for a few days. Actually, better question: why is he pretending to be a high school kid when he's over 100 years old? Of all the things he could do with his eternity, why that? Why date a seventeen-year-old human girl? I mean, sure, Elena's a good person and pretty and likable and all, and I'm not trying to knock her, but… Why would Stefan want to date someone not even in the same stratosphere of maturity and life experience?" I asked.

 

The more I spoke, the more I felt the whisper of an idea build itself up inside of me. I ran with that feeling and resumed my semi-diatribe regarding Stefan and his questionable life choices: "If he's got a boner for high school girls, why just stick with Elena? Why her in particular? Why not Caroline?"

 

"Why not you?" Clarence teased, cutting off my mini-anti-Stefan tirade. "You know, Jen, jealousy isn't a good look on you."

 

A single thought (so insane that it just might be true) fell into place in my mind, and I murmured, "...Clarence, what if Elena is Katherine's doppelgänger? I mean, it would explain Stefan's behavior, right? I know it's crazy, but just think about it for a second. What if Stefan came back to Mystic Falls to protect Elena from Klaus? And stop him from breaking the curse. I mean, isn’t Stefan’s whole MO to protect humanity from vampires?"

 

He stared at me a moment before a light of inspiration sparked in his eyes. He said, "Shit… I think… I mean, it makes sense, right? Shit, Jen!"

 

"Is there any way we can confirm this? Can we go digging through some of Alex's shit?"

 

"His journals, you mean? Sure, um… Are you free tomorrow? We can drive up to his place."

 

"Yeah, er, totally. Hold on, Clarence… Do you know what happened to Kather -" I trailed off when a terrifying thought struck my mind. I shot up from my seat and exclaimed, "Wait, oh my God! What time is it?"

 

"It's almost one in the morning," he said, glancing at his clock. All I could think about was how fucking lucky I was to have parents that constantly travelled for work and were unable to actually enforce the curfew they set; this week, I think they were both in Seattle.

 

"Motherfucker. Talk tomorrow?" I said.

 

"Definitely," he confirmed. "Wait! Before you go, I should give you some vervain."

 

He opened the bottom left drawer of his desk and procured a strange looking plant, presumably vervain. He handed it to me, and as thank I machine gunned some questions about vervain at him: "Is there a minimum amount I need to use for it to be effective? And can I, like, sneak it in my parents' food, or could that interaction render it useless? How long do its effects even last?"

 

"Lasts a few days, if you're just eating it. I don't think there's a minimum amount for it to be effective. And yeah, you can put it in food, but it's got a strong taste. Coffee masks it well enough," he said, succinctly. "But, um, listen, Jen... Can we keep everything just between us? I don't want anyone else getting involved in any of this shit. Not even Bonnie… I don't want her getting hurt."

  

"Like you even have to ask," I smiled at him.

 

I gave him one last parting hug and promptly jumped out of his window, crawled across the sycamore tree dividing our rooms, and entered my bedroom.

  

I immediately shut my window and pulled down the blinds. I needed to cry (since the moment I woke up with Jason in that motel, if I was being honest with myself), but I couldn't very well worry Clarence with my tears. Once I was certain Clarence couldn't see me, I let the waterworks stream down my face (I took care to ensure that my ugly crying was at a low volume).

  

I couldn't stand how that man had been killed. I mean, I certainly understood why Jason killed him, but I couldn't help but to empathize with the dead man's family and to feel guilty for the relief that I felt due to his death. I didn't want to die then, and I don't want to die now, but did that justify my inaction? I mean, I just let Jason kill that man. Jason was clearly a skilled fighter. Why didn't I step in and tell Jason to just knock out the man rather than kill him?

 

God… I wish these past two days could be completely erased. Now that I had all of this newly acquired knowledge, I wanted to be ignorant of it all; it was a feeling I'd never encountered before.

  

I guess I just wanted to be able to retreat into myself, but I didn't have that option. I couldn't remain a precious little flower for the rest of my life. Clarence needed me to be strong, and if I was right about Elena being the doppelgänger, she needed me to be strong, too. My friends, family, and town needed me to be at my most resilient. Wasn't this what growing up was? Finding out shit that's unpleasant but dealing with it and moving forward?

 

I plucked a tissue from my night stand and furiously wiped away the eyeliner trails winding down my face. After one last wipe, I turned my attention to completing my schoolwork (I'd be damned if I let my grades slip). I breezed through my math homework, struggled to maintain focus as I studied for my French quiz, prepared a bit for my upcoming debate tournament, and checked my email. I had three unread messages.

 

The first was from Dr. Ocelot, my mentor at my internship. She just asked me to add some additional sections to a paper that we were co-authoring on the ties between law and mythology in ancient Greece by Friday. Easy enough. I could get it done in math, since our teacher wouldn't be present (that was the second email and perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read).

 

The third was an email from Dr. Ocelot about an upcoming deadline for my application to the accelerated BS/JD program offered at Columbia. Dr. Ocelot was a huge proponent for the program (she was an alumni) and had been encouraging me to apply to it this fall for early decision. By the end of this year, I would have more than enough credits to graduate high school (and be able to get the fuck out of this bumblefuck town, though my parents have repeatedly told me that they didn't want me to graduate until next spring), and I could enroll in the program at Columbia next year if I was lucky enough to get in (I sincerely doubted I would be admitted, but Dr. Ocelot gave me a lot of hope).

 

As I began working on some of my essays for Columbia, a thought struck me. Dr. Ocelot was a professor of _mythology_. While she and I dealt with how mythology informed societal change in regards to legislation and economic policy throughout our research relationship, she likely had plenty of books on vampires and witches. I opened up my email and began drafting a request to borrow some books from her extensive collection and to chat a bit about my new _interest _(I mean, that was one word for it) over coffee.__

  

Just as I sent the email, the sound of my mother's voice rattled my fingers off of the computer keyboard: "Jennifer Diana Hemming!"

 

Fuck. How could I forget? It was my dad who was going to the medical conference in Seattle; she was staying home.

 

"Where have you been? I've been calling you for hours on end. Your curfew is eleven, not three thirty in the fucking morning!" she continued. "I thought you were actually missing!"

 

It was three thirty, now? Fuck, it only felt like a few minutes had passed by since I got home.

 

"I'm really sorry, Mum. I got carried away at the Grill with my friends, and I ended up going to Clarence's house afterwards, but I've been in my room finishing homework since twelve or so," I lied through my teeth. I felt bad for putting my mom through so much bullshit, but I also couldn't help but hope that she left soon so that I could finish my work and then pass out.

  

"Sweetie, it’s a school night, and you didn't answer your phone," my mom continued. “I was so worried.”

 

Fuck. My phone was still somewhere in the woods (I had lost it during the bedlam of Jason stealing my money). I'd have to retrieve it tomorrow. 

 

Rather than vocalize that sentiment and risk being stuffed into the garbage bin due to (what my mother would perceive a consequence of) my irresponsibility, I made up some excuse about how my phone's battery had tragically died from overuse, and as such, I did not receive her calls. She huffed and reprimanded me for my idiocy.

  

"Why are you still up?" she asked me. Her tone was positively gelid.

 

"Working on my application for Columbia."

 

"You're still going to apply to that!? Jennifer, you know that your father and I don't want you going that far away for college," my mother said. She looked almost stricken. "Especially not now. Is school really so bad that you want to graduate this year?"

  

"It's not so _bad _, but Mum, I know it could be so much better."__

 

"It? What do you mean by it?" she shot, her nose scrunch and vocal tone equally peremptory. 

 

"Life. Everything. I don't understand why I should have to wait two more years to graduate when I can only wait one, especially when I _know _that this is what I want... And I - I understand why you and dad want me close, but it's my life. So why can't it be my choice?" I murmured, somewhat pleadingly.__

  

"I still don't understand why this matters so much to your life, Jen... And when you say want to better your life, don't you realize that it's not just _your _life? Not when you're living under my roof, eating my food, and asking for my money to pay for your application fee and tuition."__

 

"You don't have to pay a dime, Mum. I have my own money."

  

"Oh yes, from your work with the Nutty Professor, studying other gods - pagan gods - instead of the true God. That couldn't even pay for a year's worth of textbooks."

 

"I can apply for scholarships, if money is an issue," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I... I don't wanna have this fight tonight, Mum. I'm tired, and - can we please talk in the morning instead?"'

 

She sighed and clenched her jaw, but after a long, contemplative pause, she nodded. "Okay, fine. But no games. I want the lights out the second I leave. Got it?"

 

Once she exited my room, I did as promised and dove into my bed. Fuck, I was tense. Frankly, I wasn’t quite sure why my talk with my Mom had made me so angry. Was I even on the right side of the argument, or was I simply being a contrarian for the sake of it? Did I really want to graduate and go to college a year early to better my life (I wasn't even sure what that meant anymore), or was I just trying to leave my parents behind? Why was I so desperate to escape their influence (or more accurately their beliefs) anyway?

  

I couldn’t think about this anymore.

 

And so, I (reluctantly) allowed my mind wander to the two kisses that I had received today. My first kiss (that I had ever received in my entire life from someone who was not my Great Aunt Bertha), from Damon, was just apart of his game to kill me. My second kiss, from Jason… Well, I wasn't sure why he did it, but I secretly hoped (but still admonished myself for wishing) that he would come back to give me another one.

 

My train of thought was broken when I saw a crow perched on my windowsill; it made a cawing sound, tilted its head, and narrowed its beady eyes at me. Creepy. That was my last thought before sleep beckoned me to let go of reality and traverse into a nightmare featuring two icy blue eyes.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 12:02 am, In a Shopping Center's Parking Lot Outside of Mystic Falls. Jason Todd's POV:_

 

When little Jenny from the Block began talking about how she wanted to be brave and get answers, it was not lost on me that what she said applied to my own situation. My promise to return and finish off that fucking vampire wasn't me placating her; I'd come back and get it done. I always did. But, for now, I needed to haul ass to Gotham and determine who resurrected me and why.

 

My main bet was on Ra's and the Shadows, given that the Shadows had a presence in Mystic Falls; I mean, one of them fucking attacked me and Jennifer. That in itself raised more questions. Why were Shadows dicking around in Mystic Falls? Was it solely because there was a Lazarus Pit here? Or was it something more?

  

I jump started a random motorcycle (I used to boost this exact model of Keeway for its tires and parts all of the time) in a section of the parking lot that was far removed from the lights and potential prying eyes of anyone in the shopping center. In the reflection of the motorcycle's sheen, I caught sight of my face. Scars riddled my jaw, nose, and neck. Scars dealt by Joker. I punched the Honda Civic next to me and dented its hood. I swear, if Batman hadn't ended that miserable fucking clown…

 

I clenched my fist before I could see my hand shake anymore.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 12:12 am, Sheila Bennett's Residence in Mystic Falls. Third Person POV:_

 

"Never have I ever skinny dipped _with_ Laurie Whitman," Bonnie said.

  

When Elena didn't take a sip of her beer (that she had smuggled from her Aunt Jenna's secret alcohol cubby for this sleepover), Bonnie laughed and said, "Oh my God, Elena. Drink!"

  

"What? I didn't do it!" Elena slurred. "I swear that I didn't. Maybe I did with Chad but not with Laurie. Laurie's got piercings on both of his nipples!"

 

"Which you found out about when you were skinny dipping with him, you slut!" Bonnie giggled.

 

" _Hey_! I'm only a slut for the cute boys. Meanwhile, you dated that weird comic nerd dude for like a year, and he wasn't even that hot. What was his name?" Elena teased back.

 

"Lies! Luka was supercrazy dreamy."

  

"Yeah right, Bon! He was only dreamy in your dreams!" 

 

Bonnie and Elena erupted into a fit of drunken snorts and giggles.

  

Caroline's jaw clenched, and she took another swig from her beer bottle. When Bonnie and Elena's chimes of laughter failed to die down, Caroline exploded, "You guys always do this!"

  

"What?" Elena wiped at her eyes and tried to stop her giggles. Bonnie followed suit.

 

When Caroline only continued to scowl at them, Elena reached out and touched Caroline's arm. Elena asked, her eyes wide with worry, "What's wrong, Care?"

 

"You wouldn't understand, Elena. Not when you're everyone's first choice!" Caroline spat. "I'm leaving!"

 

"Wait, Caroline!" Bonnie stood up. "Stay! Talk to us. You're drunk."

 

"But that's the thing, isn't it? It doesn't matter if we're all drunk or all sober. It's always the same dynamic," Caroline said and ran out of Bonnie's room.

 

Bonnie made a move to stop her, but Elena grabbed Bonnie's arm and said, "Let her go. She's upset and drunk; she's not making any sense. We'll talk to her in the morning and figure out what's really going on."

  

"Elena, you know... You know what's going on."

 

"No, Bonnie. I really don't. Tell me," Elena said, taking Bonnie's wrist in her hand. "Please."

 

Bonnie mumbled that she'd tell Elena later and went downstairs to find Caroline. But alas, Caroline and her car were gone.

 

"Shit!" Bonnie said.

 

Bonnie's grandmother, affectionately referred to as Grams, overheard the profanity and teased, "Watch your words, child. Might get you in trouble someday." 

 

_September 2, 2013 at 12:35 am, Dearden Road in Mystic Falls. Caroline Forbes's POV:_

 

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel to keep myself from seeing red again.

  

 _How dare Elena?_ How fucking dare she? God, she even had the temerity to pretend like she didn't know the exact reason I was pissed. I mean, for fuck's sake, she's the one who got everything. She got the best friend (I was always the understudy to Elena's lead role as Bonnie's best friend), the boyfriend (Stefan fell for Elena and her doe eyes the _moment_ he got to Mystic Falls), and the crown (Elena was the indisputable Queen Bee of the school). She was everything, but I was something. I had to be. Why? Because I was there for Bonnie through everything - from her mother bouncing on her to her first kiss with Clarence. Because I spent hours picking out the perfect lipstick, perfect push up bra, and the perfect fucking pick up lines for Stefan. Because I had to claw my way to the apex predator position that I now occupied in my high school's ecosystem. But Elena did not have a "because" for her everything... She didn't try, since trying was antithetical to who she was naturally: Mystic Falls's center of mass.

 

I hated the dynamic. I hated that I just threw myself at people and opportunities, just waiting for someone to see me. To acknowledge me and my effort and everything I'd ever done. I hated that no one noticed; no one cared. God, I don't know what even set me off tonight. I was usually better about bottling this up. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was something else. But I knew that I was sick of it. I was sick of being second best. I wanted a change. No, I needed a change.

 

And then my car suddenly rammed into something. A body hit my front windshield and went flying to the side of the road. Blood sashayed down the glass.

 

I screamed and rushed out of my car to find a mangled, bloody female body at my feet. I crouched down and pushed the woman's hair away from her twisted neck to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. Oh my God! Oh my God! Did I just – no, she _had_ to be alive! She just had to! I looked down at her face and promptly covered my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming when I realized that this wasn't just any woman. This was Vicki Donovan, Matt's sister, for fuck's sake! What did I just do?! Did I just fucking kill Vicki Donovan? No, no, no, no, no! This couldn't be real, this couldn't be me, and this couldn't be my life.

 

Every time I tried to let myself take in a breath, I started to choke on the deafening emptiness in my throat. I had to leave, before I suffocated on my own panic, so I hurled my body back into my car and sped away from Vicki's cold, dead corpse. 

 

As I shot away, I swear I heard someone laughing. I wasn't sure if the laughter came from Elena, God, or me.

 

_September 2, 2013 at 12:44 am, Sheila Bennett's Residence in Mystic Falls. Bonnie Bennett's POV:_

   

Sighing, I sent Caroline a quick text to call me once she got home, and I trudged upstairs to talk to Elena.

 

"Where's Caroline?" Elena asked.

 

"She went home."

 

"What? She's drunk, Bonnie! Call her. We can't let her drive. What if she gets hurt?" Elena's tone was doused with nervousness.

 

"And make her talk to us on the phone and drive at the same time? That's even more dangerous! Besides, I already texted her to call me when she got home, and she didn't have _that_ much to drink," I reasoned.

  

"Okay. Fine," slurred Elena, calming down slightly. "Look, can we just talk about all of the Caroline stuff in the morning? I'm really tired. You mind if I go to bed?"

 

"No, of course not! I'm just gonna go take a shower and wait for Caroline's call."

 

"Sounds good, Bon. Love you," Elena gave me a hug and then crawled into her purple sleeping bag.

 

I responded to Clarence's text asking if we could move our weekly date, scheduled for tomorrow night, to Friday with a thumbs up emoji (even though this was officially the sixth week in a row that he rescheduled date night… I'd have to confront him about it), and then I hopped into the shower.

 

After my shower, I checked my phone and frowned when I saw that Caroline still had not called me. What if she had gotten into an accident?

 

A sudden hiss jolted me out of my spiral of worry. The cinnamon scented Yankee candle next to my bathroom sink had suddenly crackled to life. Bewildered, I peered deeper into the flame, and suddenly, the yellow and orange hues that ribboned through the overwhelming red of the fire began to form an image of a crow. The crow swooped toward me, and I stepped back from the fire, while still remaining completely entranced by it. The crow abruptly morphed into a domino mask, and through the domino mask's eye holes, another image danced to life.

 

However, before I could determine what was behind the mask, my head began to pang violently, and I fell to my knees, howling in agony. I could only see darkness, until a single light shone down from somewhere above. I looked down and saw Elena, drenched in blood, squirming and crying out for help. Her throat was nearly torn out. She began screaming, and soon I was screaming in unison with her, and we kept shrieking, until I couldn't tell whose screams were whose or where I was or if this was even real.

 

Just as suddenly as this vision gripped my mind, it ceased its torment of me. I felt a drop in my stomach, as if I was coming down from the peak of a roller coaster, and I was transported away from the horrific scene and back to my bathroom. I looked at the Yankee candle. The flame still burned.

 

I pulled myself off of the bathroom floor and into my bedroom to find Elena, throat un-cut and being un-bloodied, snoring into her pillow.

  

What was wrong with me?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Jason may have seemed playful and almost happy with Jen at certain points, please know that I'm writing him as someone who keeps his emotions to himself. He's also a hot and cold" kind of guy, in my opinion (at least, that's how I'm writing him) - his attitude is very much mercurial. That's why he bounces between snarky/flirty to angry/aloof in a second.
> 
> On Jason and Jen: Bottom line here is that while Jason is attracted to her, he doesn't see any point in pursuing her. He said it himself during their kiss scene (She's too young and naïve for him. Jason's also a bit of a jokester and a flirt, so I wouldn't read too much into his flirtatious banter with Jen. Plus, like Dr. Ocelot said, use of the Lazarus Pit makes people more prone to being impulsive, something Jason already was prior to his dip in the Pit). Meanwhile, Jen has never really had attention from any guys before. If you remember from the first chapter, the only suitor she's ever had was when she was in third grade (this is discounting Damon, as he only pursued her because he wanted to drink her blood and kill her to spite Stefan, not because he had any romantic interest in her). Jason's the first guy to take any sort of significant interest in her in a romantic way (and let's face it, he's physically super gorgeous, so Jen is definitely physically attracted to him). She's very clearly smitten with him even though she knows he's dangerous and mysterious (mysterious being code for: I don't know how pure your motives are, so I can't and won't trust you). So, for now, I'm kind of giving Jen a pass on her constant musings about Jason this chapter.
> 
> On Caroline: Caroline asked for a change, and she got one (albeit not the change she was hoping for). She straight up just killed someone by accident and heard someone laughing (Was the laughter all in her imagination? Was she the one laughing? Was someone else watching this unfold and decided to maniacally laugh at Vicki's death?). Any predictions on what this could mean? I'm excited to let her story unfold. I know that sounds weird after I just said that she killed someone, but I swear it all has to do with her character development!
> 
> On Jen: I think she's very much a typical teenage girl, but I will say part of her characterization is that she is very intelligent (or at least I'm trying to write her that way). In order for her to actually be a protagonist in the story and have any sort of relevance to it, I needed to give her at least one exceptional ability (I chose intelligence). Other than that, I tried to make her have the characteristics of a fairly normal person – unsure of herself and her beliefs/insecure, has a raunchy sense of humor, curious (bitch kept interrupting poor Clarence because she NEEDS answers), generally well intentioned, but also judgmental (her whole rant on Stefan and comment about Carol Lockwood's makeup – Jen needs to chill lmao), defensive (whether she's wrong or right, she's often sensitive about her opinion, and when prodded, she gets defensive - this becomes important, and not in a good way, later on), and very immature (keep in mind, she's 17 years old, so her narration may be annoying and unreliable at times, given her age).
> 
> I think this whole chapter is really just about Jen growing up a little and losing some of her innocence (though, she's still just a teenage girl trying to find her place in the world). She's learned a lot in a short amount of time, and most it isn't knowledge that she wants to know. However, I think that's true of most people's experience of maturing into adulthood (you begin to see the world for how it is and not with rose colored glass).
> 
> On Jen's Parents: I cannot stress enough that there is a reason for Jen's parents' insistence that she devote herself to God. For one thing, it is meant to reveal aspects of Jen's character (meant to sure she's unsure of her beliefs and where she stands) as well as some themes related to legacy/environment/personal desires, but it is also something that is intertwined with the mythology of this fan work (won't be disclosed/be relevant for some time).
> 
> Lastly: Sorry for the longer length of this chapter relative to previous ones. I just kind of had an itch to write, and I couldn't stop until I poured all of this out into my laptop. I know I threw a lot at you and that this chapter kind of droned on at points, but Jen and Clarence needed to come together and figure things out so that they could take action and advance the plot.


	5. A Quick Announcement/Explanation - NOT AN UPDATE (sorry)

Hi guys!

College life (I'm pre-med and a sophomore, so things are kind of rough right now) is insanely hectic, and sadly, I don't have much time to write fanfiction.

Thus, I will be going on a "hiatus" of sorts. I will still post chapters, but updates will likely only come a few times a year. This does not, however, mean that I will fail to complete this story. This story will be finished. It will just take a long ass time lol.

Thank you for understanding!

Best, 

MeltedPanini


	6. Paradise by the Dashboard Light

**Chapter 5: Paradise by the Dashboard Light**

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_From the Diary of Mr. Thomas Stonewell. Boston, Massachusetts. December, 1774._

 

In my first intake of breath as a vampire, I took in every aroma invading Boston’s air space - somehow, the odor of the wet wood comprising the surrounding edifices was of equivalent pungence to that of the flounder being haggled over at the old fish market located several miles away (on another note, how was I even able to hear the dispute over the flounder’s price?).

 

But, it was in my first exhale as a reborn creature that I became acutely aware of the fact that my own blood was cascading through my fingers... As if it were silken hair. The feeling reverberated throughout the rest of my being, as the sensation became more than just touch. It evolved into something auditory, like a siren’s melody, and then it expanded its reach into something olfactory (completely overtaking the territory once occupied by old fish and wood), like the scent of Abigail’s wildflower perfume, until it eventually blossomed into a visceral cloud that unified with my person. It was sensuality magnified.

 

Such strength in feeling was alien… It alighted me with a ravenous desire for something I had never experienced or known before. The closest epithet I can conjure to describe the heady grip that clenched around my heart is thirst.

 

However, just as this thirst inflamed into a storm that I could no longer bear, the blood’s riotous song plateaued to a hum, and I was granted a moment of clarity that I had not been afforded since I had become entangled with the likes of Andrew Bennett.

 

A man, sheathed in a black coat, was drunkenly stumbling through the alley. He was clutching his hand; it was bleeding profusely.

 

And with my observation of the man’s bleeding appendage, the thirst swooped back into my chest in a wild frenzy, and I felt it purloin me of my own body; it lifted me like a puppet from my sprawled position on the street and directed me towards the man.

 

I drew his ichor from him with fangs I was not aware I possessed. All the while, I watched, in complete fascination, as his body’s allay of blood synchronized beautifully with the slowing and eventual termination of his breathing.

 

I do not want to recall this, diary. I do not wish to remember my monstrous actions… What have I done? I always believed that vampires were the product of dilettantish superstitions, so I never considered that when Andrew Bennett offered to turn me, I would become like this…

 

Rather, I assumed I would become like him. I would be a truer and purer servant of God than any man could ever be.

 

I could hardly breathe. I can _still_ hardly breathe, as I scribble these most unfortunate events unto the page. I cannot continue writing; I am too overcome with feeling. Until tomorrow.

**____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_September 3, 2013 at 12:59 am, At the Residence of Caroline Forbes. Third Person POV:_

 

Caroline Forbes had just killed someone.

 

She knew, of course, that she should turn her car around, call the police (meaning her mother - fuck), and proceed to explain everything that had happened to Vicki. Yet, she shortly found herself pulling up into her driveway, darting toward her front door, and fumbling for her house keys. Rejecting the _notion_ (innocent until proven guilty, right?) that she had committed any crime, she forced herself to ignore the blood that stained her shirt (and her car - double fuck - should she get some bleach and destroy the evidence?) and crawled (while convulsing in abject panic) into bed.

 

No, Caroline Forbes would not be honest tonight. She would, however, spend the remainder of her night ruminating over what she had done and struggling to control her random bouts of shaking.

 

Her alarm clock jolted her out of her spiral of worry.

 

Still shivering, Caroline tore off her blood-stained clothes and stuffed them under her bed. Anywhere except in her line of vision would do. Sniffling, Caroline forced herself to prepare for the day as she always did. With a Xanax from her mother’s bathroom cabinet.

 

Passing through her mother’s bedroom in order to access said Xanax, Caroline came to the startling realization that her mother still wasn’t home. Triple fuck. Did her mother and the rest of the force already discover Vicki’s body? Is that why she still wasn’t home?

 

As the Xanax kicked in, Caroline’s focus redirected itself to the more immediate situation at hand: the blood on her car. Intent on disposing of the evidence, Caroline armed herself with bleach and paper towels, but upon scurrying out of the house, she noticed something terrifying. Her car was absolutely pristine; there was no blood on it...

 

Not a spot nor a piss in the wind.

 

Was this her mother’s doing? Had her mother found Vicki’s body, seen Caroline’s car, and put two and two together? Quadruple fuck.

 

Racing into her car, Caroline sped to Dearden Road, the site of Vicki’s death, to find that there was no body or evidence to indict the place as a manslaughter location. What the fuck was happening?

 

A low screech escaped Caroline’s mouth, and she tugged at her hair in an attempt to divorce her consciousness from her body. Upon catching a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, however, her low whimpers and whispered chants of “oh-my-god” momentarily died down. Did she actually look this sad, this scary, this… This _hideous_ in real life?

 

Caroline’s body violently shook and wailed, as she attempted to expunge the wild eyes and ruddy skin that had so unmercilessly overtaken the harsh, otherworldly being staring back at her through the mirror’s portal. Yet, even after Caroline’s eyes were dried from their complete deliverance of tears, her disheveled image still remained to haunt, in all of its sepulchral glory, the mirror’s unflinching clarity.

 

Reaching out to touch this mirror version of herself, Caroline seemed to terrify her mirror-double such that it, seemingly of its volition, caused the mirror to drop from its secure positioning on the car’s roof.

 

What the fuck?

 

The mirror couldn’t have just fallen on its own (car mirrors didn’t do that, right?); she must have whacked it off. How the hell had she just snapped the mirror from its placement? She barely had enough strength to do a pull-up in gym class.

 

She popped another Xanax.

 

An uncomfortably familiar brick building suddenly came into view. It looked like a six year old’s crayon-based imagining of a high school to Caroline; the colors were streaky and bulky in texture.

 

Wait, never mind her bout of abnormal strength, how the fuck did she even get to Mystic Falls High? She didn’t remember driving there. Parking and throwing herself out of her car, she slammed the door shut and tried to gather her bearings.

 

“Caroline!” a voice hollered. Quintuple fuck (she could go on all day with this).

 

Spinning around (a motion that should not have been as disorienting as it was), she spotted a smiling Matt jogging towards her.

 

“Matt,” Caroline swallowed and forced herself to brighten and behave like her normal self (or, more accurately, the construction of herself that she had worked damn hard to perfect over the years). “Hi. How - how are you?”

 

“Good. I’m good. You?”

 

“Really great!” Caroline hoped her smile was convincing.

 

“Great? That’s great. I, um… I called you last night. I don’t know if you got my voicemail.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t get the chance to listen to it. I was, um, busy last night.”

 

Matt’s pale visage flared pink, and he looked away from Caroline. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to… Um...”

 

“Say?” Caroline prompted. She could feel bile building in her stomach.

 

“Yeah. In the the voicemail,” Matt squeaked through his voice crack.

 

The pink that dotted his complexion suddenly burned a more insistent and angry color, as he cleared his throat in an attempt to wash away the apprehension infecting his tone. He continued in a controlled voice: “I mean, in the voicemail, I said something that I’ve wanted to say to you for awhile. I just, um... I’m not so great at expressing myself. But, Vicki, she and I talked yesterday, and she told me that I should -”

 

“Vicki?” Caroline croaked.

 

“Yeah, she, uh, told me that I should...” Matt began and moved his eyes to look directly into Caroline’s. A twitch of a smile ghosted across his face, and he resumed, “That I should man up and tell you how I feel about you. To your face. So, I, uh, want you to hear this from me in person and not from some voicemail: Caroline, I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.”

 

Caroline responded in the only way she could; she snapped her head down and vomited all over his freshly laundered football jersey (sextuple fuck).

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_From the Memory of Jason Todd. Arkham Asylum in Gotham City, New York. March, 2012. Third Person POV:_

 

“Wakey, wakey,” a piercing voice chirped. “Oh, Robin! Don’t you want to play?”

 

The grating sound of a crow bar being dragged across the floor ignited a conditioned response in Jason (fuck, had Joker reduced him to a Pavlov dog?); he struggled against the barbed wire restraints that bound him to the chair and made several attempts to speak. His voice, however, was uncooperative in this venture, thanks to severe dehydration.

 

“Today marks six months now, Jason. Six months of you being _my_ sidekick,” Joker hummed. “I think you deserve a special treat for being such a good, little bird.”

 

The crow bar collided with Jason’s stomach, which was already ripped open and inflamed with severe infection from previous beatings. Jason screamed in agony as Joker continued his onslaught. After an unspeakable amount of time, Joker’s assault on Jason ended, and Joker cooed, “There, there. Isn’t that better, Jason?”

 

The buzz of the insects that were crawling around the compound and attempting to lodge themselves in Jason’s open wounds served as Joker’s only answer.

 

After dealing another blow to Jason’s abdomen, Joker pressed, “Doesn’t the crowbar help you forget about that new Robin that Batman’s always raving about?”

 

Jason tried to summon the ability to speak. When only a low groan managed to escape his mouth, he settled on opening his two heavily swollen black eyes.

 

“Oopsie daisy! I didn’t mean to let Batsy’s dirty little secret slip…” Joker’s glove hand flew to the dramatic O-shape that his mouth had most eagerly formed. Joker’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “I promised him that I’d keep quiet, you know. But, since you’re _my_ sidekick now, I figured I might as well clue you in, champ…”

 

A photograph of (a smiling?) Batman and his newer, shinier Robin suddenly overcast Jason’s entire visual field. Was it true? Had Batman dropped and replaced him so easily, or was this one of Joker’s elaborate tricks?

 

“Funny. Bats is actually smiling. Smiling! Bet you’ve never seen that before,” Joker cackled.

 

Wiping a crocodile tear from his eye, Joker twirled in place and grinned, dramatic and inhuman, until his rouged lips nearly cracked off his face from the strain. Taking a knee next to Jason, Joker flashed his teeth, like a barracuda in warm water, and goaded, “How does that make you feel? I don’t want to be like one of those unbearable armchair psychologists, Jason - no, no, no, that wouldn’t be right - but I think it’s fair to say that you must feel like an unwanted puppy, don’t you? Blink once if you agree.”

 

Jason strained to keep his drooping black eyes open for as long as possible, but he was only human: he blinked.

 

“Don’t worry, my boy! Even though you were never good enough for Batsy, you’ll _always_ be good enough for this old clown,” Joker spurted out in between maniacal bursts of cachinnation.

 

The crow bar merrily greeted Jason’s stomach again in harmony with Joker’s ear-splitting rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_September 3, 2013 at 7:58 am, Mystic Falls High School. Jennifer Hemming’s POV:_

 

Pulling out my headphones, I glanced at my schedule, before elbowing my way through the horde of students congesting the hallway and slipping into history class. Sinking down into a seat at the back of the room, where no prying eyes could see what I was doing, I fished out my laptop and opened up my inbox. There was no reply to the email I sent Dr. Ocelot about vampires and the possibility of getting coffee to discuss them (maybe the fact that I sent it at 3:30 am, like an absolute lunatic, motivated Dr. Ocelot’s lack of response).

 

There was, however, an email notification from _Science and Tech News_ , which I had been subscribed to for a few years now. Opening up the email, a headline of a featured article appeared on screen: “Bruce Wayne Takes a Break from Playboy Life to Announce the Development of a Noninvasive Medical Device to Help Scoliosis Patients.”

 

I clicked on the article’s link, and a picture of (a hungover looking) Bruce Wayne popped up. He was handsome, with black hair, blue eyes, and a well-built physique. It was a particular strain of handsome that I had encountered a lot lately, given Damon Salvatore and Jason Wayne.

 

Wayne. Jason. Jason _Wayne_.

 

What if Jason was somehow related to Bruce...? After all, Bruce Wayne had famously taken in a few wards over the years.

 

Jesus, what was I even thinking? Clearly, all of this vampire stuff had taken me into a realm of complete paranoia and irrationality. Clarence was probably right: Jason was just some peripatetic vampire hunter.

 

Still, it couldn’t hurt to peruse Bruce Wayne’s Wikipedia page...

 

Scrolling through Bruce Wayne’s profile was _interesting_ to say the least. His parents were killed in front of him when he was only seven years old, but he apparently kicked ass in school and graduated from Princeton University summa cum laude before randomly disappearing for several years, leaving a Mr. Luscious Fox to run Wayne Enterprises in the meantime.

 

Bruce Wayne’s official (and purportedly drunken) statement on his sudden vanishing was recorded as being: “I travelled all over the motherfucking world.”

 

Classy guy.

 

When a female reporter asked him what he was doing travelling “the motherfucking world,” he responded rather suggestively: “I’d rather show you.”

 

And yet, he was more than the hundred lewd quotes scattered across his Wikipedia page.

 

There was a small space on his profile dedicated to explaining his philanthropic efforts. Upon further exploration through Google (funny how far I had to scroll and dig to actually read about Bruce Wayne’s philanthropy in detail), I came to find that Bruce Wayne, unlike most celebrities whose philanthropic work I had read about, was truly committed to helping others and repeatedly went out of his way to do so; he also seemed to care a great deal about advancing Wayne Enterprises. In fact, the company was experiencing an unprecedented flourish of innovation under his tenure as CEO.

 

Returning to Wayne’s Wikipedia page, his philanthropic profile was immediately followed and rather overwhelmed by a superfluous description of his notorious public image as a womanizer and a partier.

 

And then, immediately following this seemingly damning characterization, there was a photograph of a smiling Bruce Wayne and his two eldest wards, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd.

 

 _Jason Todd_... Holy mother of fuck.

 

Jason Todd was Jason Wayne. I was fucking right! But the Jason in the photograph didn’t look nearly as worn or as scarred as the Jason I had met...

 

Did Bruce Wayne give him those scars? That J on his cheek?

 

Was Bruce Wayne’s playboy persona simply meant to mask something really evil? I mean, what kind of Casanova takes in orphaned boys? I guess you could chalk it up to his philanthropic inclinations, but something felt off. All three boys (there was another picture of his newest ward Damian) were mini Bruce Waynes, slicked up with black hair and blue eyes.

 

Fuck, I needed to stop crawling down this rabbit hole before I sounded even more like a crazed gossip columnist. Closing my laptop, I ran my hand over my face and tried to tune out my racing thoughts; the universe must have been listening to me and decided I deserved something even more horrifying to concentrate on, as Tyler Lockwood suddenly burst into the classroom with one of his friends and boomed, “Amanda’s a fuckin’ freak, man. She started sucking me off… _In front_ _of Tommy!_ ”

 

As Tyler delved into greater detail concerning Amanda’s blow job technique (poor girl) in the most raucous voice conceivable, I fought valiantly to internalize my groans and eye rolls.

 

How could this asshole be my competition for valedictorian? How the hell was he even class president? He was such a prick, yet everyone at this godforsaken school, including teachers, worshipped the ground he shit on... I swear that wasn’t _just_ my jealousy talking.

 

“She was choking on my dick. Swear to God,” Tyler’s voice broke through my mental barricade.

 

Jesus H Christ. I looked up from my desk in hopes of exchanging commiserating glances with some other suffering soul. My eyes locked on Jeremy Gilbert, Elena’s little brother, who just so happened to be boring a hole in the back of Tyler’s head. Good to know I wasn’t alone in my irritation.

 

“Mornin’ everyone,” a somewhat disgruntled looking Mr. Saltzman said, as he entered the classroom. “Bell is about to ring.”

 

All of the background chatter settled down following Mr. Saltzman’s pronouncement.

 

After the chime of the bell and the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, Mr. Saltzman slugged the rest of his coffee and said, “So, uh, Kendra, were you in charge of writing down the slide number we were on? I forget.”

 

“We were on 34,” Kendra said.

 

“Right, thank you,” Mr. Saltzman smiled tightly and projected his PowerPoint presentation unto the whiteboard. “Slide 34… So, if you guys remember from yesterday, the Aztecs’ moon goddess, Coyolxauhqui, was the sister of Huitzilopochtli, Tenochtitlán’s patron god. Anyway, Huitzilopochtli was also his sister’s murderer; we know this from a relief on the Pyramid of Sacrifices, which commemorates her death. And so, the big takeaway from this is that this story inspired the Aztecs’ belief that the full moon signified the emergence of sinister events, whether it be related to magic or monsters. This, in turn, led to -”

 

The rest of Mr. Saltzman’s lecture was was lost on me upon glancing at my school planner, which detailed the lunar cycle. Apparently, tonight was going to be a full moon.

 

Yesterday, Clarence had said that Mystic Falls was some sort of magical hot spot, but what if there was more at play? What if Stefan and Damon’s sudden appearance in town could be explained by the lunar cycle or other cosmological events?

 

Expanding on that train of thought, Clarence mentioned that Klaus might require other ingredients to complete his power-gaining ritual, other than the doppelgänger. What if the goddess he planned on sacrificing the doppelgänger to was representative of some celestial entity and required some sort of special astronomical occurrence?

 

It would explain why he hadn’t just kidnapped Elena (assuming I was right in thinking that she was even the doppelgänger in question) and sacrificed her. Granted, Elena was likely under Stefan’s protection, but according to Clarence, Klaus was in possession of many vampiric followers. Was Stefan powerful enough to fend off Klaus and his acolytes?

 

“Jennifer!” a voice snapped me out of my reverie. It was Mr. Saltzman. Shit. He continued, “Glad to finally have your full attention.”

 

“Oh, uh, sorry, Mr. Saltzman,” I shook myself out of my thoughts. “I, um… Could you repeat the question again please?”

 

“I didn’t ask you a question,” he said. “You were called down to the office.”

 

Joy to the world.

 

“Right, sorry. Um, thank you,” I said. Thoroughly embarrassed, I quickly tossed all of my shit into my backpack and slung it over my shoulder.

 

As I rose from my seat, I could feel a pair of eyes zeroing in on me. Sidling my gaze to the left, I caught Stefan’s stare; a moment passed before he blinked and hastily redirected his focus back to Mr. Saltzman’s PowerPoint presentation. Did Stefan know that his brother tried to kill me yesterday night?

 

Before I could ponder this further, Mr. Saltzman’s voice cut across the room: “If you’re done staring at Stefan, Jennifer, you’re welcome to start heading down to the office.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 8:28 am, In the Outskirts of Gotham City, New York. Jason Todd’s POV:_

 

There was a brief moment in time when I felt an inkling of disgust for sifting through the McDonald’s garbage vat for burgers, but upon finding a barely eaten patty, my hunger dissolved any revulsion I might have felt. Shielding the burger from the rain, I began to stuff it into my mouth, washing every bite down with some half-drunk Coke - another find from my dumpster dive.

 

“Sir, are you okay?” a woman, who had just exited the McDonald’s, asked me.

 

I knew I should have moved behind the trees for cover.

 

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” I replied while chewing my burger.

 

“Great,” she said, shifting her weight entirely onto one foot (not a great position if you are preparing to attack).

 

“Yeah, great.”

 

She scratched behind her ear, before responding: “Right. Well, before I go, I’d like to give you my, um…”

 

She started fumbling through her purse, and I forced myself not to tense. Who the hell was this woman? Concerned (but idiotic) civilian? A Shadow?

 

I scanned my surroundings. Despite the rain and gray overcast, the cameras surrounding the McDonald’s could pretty easily pick up on any face that was within its line of vision (currently, I was outside of said visual perimeter). While there were several cars in the parking lot, all of their owners were eating inside of McDonald’s. All of them (including the employees) were conveniently facing the opposite direction of me. The highway was dead. No possible witnesses. Had she orchestrated our meeting to present itself this way?

 

Still, it wasn’t too much of a problem. There were a few fallen branches scattered around me that I could either use as weapons or as tools in a sequence of distracting maneuvers (basically creating time for me to reach inside of my pocket and grab the blade that belonged to the Shadow I killed yesterday and the smoke pellets I used in my fight with the vampire). I could take her.

 

However, since she could be a Shadow or a bounty hunter, equipped with some grenades, a blade, or a small gun in that fucking whale of a purse of hers, I’d have to exercise some caution.

 

But, instead of pulling out some heat, she fished out a business card.

 

“Here,” she said, trying to hand it to me. “In case you need anything, all of my contact information is on this.”

 

“Lady, I don’t need anything, besides some peace and quiet to eat this burger,” I drawled.

 

“Yes, I’m sure, but in case you do,” she insisted, waving the card a bit.

 

I brusquely snatched it from her, and her nose scrunched.

 

I narrowed my eyes and asked, “Can I eat my burger in peace now?”

 

“Yes. Yes, of course. I… Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said and gestured toward my burger. Swallowing, as if she wanted to say more, she pivoted on her high heels and click-clacked her way to her Hyundai.

 

I looked down and read the now sopping wet business card. It was headed by her name and degrees: Kimberly G. Ocelot, JD, PhD. The rest gave away her contact information and affiliation with Gotham University. It looked professional and legitimate, but it could have easily been created by some outside party that knew of my existence and wanted to kill or use me somehow.

 

But, really, her name is what set me off. Kimberly Ocelot. For fuck’s sake, her last name was a species of wild cat. It would have sounded fake (like it belonged to some fourth-string porn actress), if it didn’t feel so fucking familiar.

 

I tossed her card in the garbage. Probably had a fucking microchip tracker inside of it.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 8:32 am, Mystic Falls High School. Third Person POV:_

 

“Can I ask you something, Sheriff?” Jennifer asked.

 

Sheriff Forbes nodded and wrapped her hands around her coffee, as she took a seat across from Jennifer in one of the main office’s adjoining conference rooms.

 

“Why am I here exactly? Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, no - nothing like that. I just wanted to ask you some questions. About what happened on the night of September 2,” Sheriff Forbes said, pulling out a thick, manilla folder and matching notepad from her bag.

 

“Again, can I ask why?” Jennifer said slowly, shifting her gaze from the papers edging out of the folder to Sheriff Forbes.

 

“It’s just a matter of personal investigation.”

 

“Personal investigation?” Jennifer echoed.

 

“Yes. A personal investigation concerning Damon Salvatore. He informed me that you were together for a period of time on September 2. I just came here to ask you if that was the case. He said that you two spoke outside of the Grill for 20 minutes, before you decided to leave to go home.”

 

Jennifer nodded slowly. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t remember the exact amount of time I spent with him, but I talked to him for a bit before going home.”

 

“Did you speak inside of the Grill at all, before going outside with him?”

 

In answer to Sheriff Forbes’s question, a crow began to peck at the window glass; Jen jolted in her seat and turned to face the crow.

 

“Um,” Sheriff Forbes continued, her brows scrunched, “Anyway, as I was saying, did anything happen before you two went outside together?”

 

“I, um…” Jennifer trailed off, as the crow rapped its beak harder against the glass. Shifting her eyes away from the crow and back to Sheriff Forbes, Jennifer inhaled deeply and said, “Could I just get some water from my backpack?”

 

“Of course,” Sheriff Forbes said.

 

As Jennifer reached down to grab a water bottle from her backpack, she fumbled with the zipper and tipped the entire backpack over, spilling its contents at Sheriff Forbes’s feet.

 

“Wow, I’m so sorry! It’s just one of those days, I guess,” Jennifer said loudly, as Sheriff Forbes laughed in polite agreement and crouched down to help collect some of Jennifer’s books.

 

Leaning down, Jennifer slowly scooped up her backpack, and, as Sheriff Forbes moved under the table to gather some scattered pencils, Jennifer peeked at the open manila folder on Sheriff Forbes’s desk: there, in bold typeface, was a statement from the night of September 2 as told by Damon Salvatore.

 

The crow stopped pecking at the window.

 

“Here you go,” Sheriff Forbes said suddenly, as she popped up from underneath the table and handed Jennifer some pencils and a heavy book, with a portrait of Horatio Nelson gracing its cover. “Some reading for history class?”

 

Snapping her gaze to Sheriff Forbes, Jennifer smiled and took the proffered book and pencils, before saying, “No, just some light reading.”

 

Sheriff Forbes’s lips twitched, as she took her seat again. “So, to get back to the matter at hand: did you speak to Damon Salvatore before going outside with him?”

 

“Briefly. We were, um…” Jennifer began, before looking away dramatically. “We were planning to go home together, so we could - you know…”

 

Sheriff Forbes nodded slowly. Drawing out her words, she continued, “Right... So you talk for a minute inside. What happens outside?”

 

“We talked some more. Kissed a little. But I got nervous.”

 

“Nervous?” Sheriff Forbes repeated, picking up her pen suddenly.

 

“Well, you see, I’ve never really _done_ something like that with someone I had just met before. He was just so... Anyway, I told him that I needed to go home, and he was really sweet about it. He offered to walk me back to make sure I was safe, but I told him I’d be fine, so he said he’d be outside of the Grill, having a smoke, if I changed my mind.”

 

Sheriff Forbes scrutinized Jen for a moment. “So you just walked home?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you stayed at your house for the rest of the night?”

 

“Yeah, I did.”

 

Sheriff Forbes took a long sip of her coffee and grimaced at its bitterness.

 

“Is that all?” Jennifer asked. “History’s my favorite subject, and I’d hate to miss more class time than necessary.”

 

Sheriff Forbes furrowed her brows and sighed. She pressed her pen into her notepad and said, “Yes, I guess that’s all. You’re free to head back to class.”

 

Jennifer immediately took the opportunity to exercise said freedom; before Sheriff Forbes could take another sip from her coffee mug, Jennifer had left the room and was power walking to history class.

 

“Jennifer?” a voice called to her from somewhere down the hallway.

 

Jennifer whipped around to see Stefan, making a beeline towards her, with a red, laminated bathroom pass in his hand.

 

“Hey, Stefan,” she said.

 

“Hey yourself... Everything okay? With the office, I mean,” Stefan said. His smile was soft.

 

“Yeah, I, um…” Jennifer’s voice trailed off, as she nodded. “What was up with you earlier?”

 

Stefan raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean when you were staring at me.”

 

“I wasn’t. If I remember correctly, Mr. Saltzman pointed out that you were the one staring at me,” Stefan said lightly.

 

“Because you were staring at me first,” Jennifer insisted.

 

“…I might have overheard Bonnie telling Elena that you had left the Grill with someone named Damon.”

 

Jennifer nodded and flitted her eyes away from his.

 

However, before she could fully detach her stare from Stefan’s, he shot his arms out to grip her shoulders - forcing a lock between his gaze and hers. His pupils blew out the green of his irises, as he compelled her, “Stay away from Damon. Make sure that you keep Elena, all of your friends, and everyone you love away from him. He’s _bad_ news.”

 

There was a long pause, before Jennifer nodded again. She repeated, “He’s bad news.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 10:00 am, Gotham City, New York. Jason Todd’s POV:_

 

Little known fact: Bruce Wayne is a creature of habit. Yeah, yeah, he’s a genius, and he’s got his magical fucking utility belt, and he’s this and he’s that, but in the end, he’s fucking predictable. And so I knew he wouldn’t be in the Batcave or Wayne Manor. He wouldn’t even be at Wayne Enterprises. No, he’d be out on patrol; he’d say “the criminal element relishes in stormy weather; it obscures their faces from cameras,” but really, we’d both know that he’d be out “fighting for justice” because it’s really the only thing that keeps him semi-sane.

 

With that in mind, I made a hard left on the motorcycle that I had stolen earlier and headed towards an entryway into Gotham’s sewers because (another little known fact is that) the Batcave can be easily accessed through the sewer system (amazing that Bruce never closed it off, but, like I said, he’s a creature of habit, and _Selina_ liked having a more easily accessible entrance to the cave than Wayne Manor).

 

Parking my motorcycle in a small alleyway (where it would no doubt get boosted), I wrenched open a manhole cover and jumped down inside; the smell of shit and the feeling of sewage doused water, sloshing around my legs, greeted me. Ah, it’s great to be back in Gotham, eh?

 

Wading in the shit water, I navigated through the sewage system until I got to my destination. A single stone, which just slightly jutted out from its place in the wall of the sewer tunnel, was the key into the Batcave. I pulled it to the side and out popped a monitor, asking for identification.

 

“Jason Todd,” I said. Hopefully, Bats hadn’t removed me from the system.

 

The monitor beamed a blue light, as it scanned my voice and left eye.

 

“Password?” it asked.

 

Fuck. “Fairbanks?”

 

“Access granted,” the monitor said, and before I could blink, I was being pulled inside of a newly conjured, glass chamber.

 

The chamber shot away from the sewers and through miles of rock until its door flung open to reveal the Batcave. Home sweet home.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 10:15 am, Mystic Falls High School. Third Person POV:_

 

“God, why is our chemistry textbook so heavy?” Bonnie groaned.

 

“Hey, I got it,” Clarence said, reaching for Bonnie’s textbook. “Here, I’ll carry your backpack, too.”

 

“No, it’s cool,” Bonnie said, batting his hand away.

 

“As cool as two tickets to the Foo Fighters?”

 

“What?” Bonnie massaged her temple, wearily.

 

“The Foo Fighters! I got us two tickets. _Front fucking row!_ They’ll be in Charleston in October.”

 

“Oh, great.”

 

“Hey, are you okay? You seem kind of out of it,” Clarence asked, concerned.

 

“Probably because I am,” Bonnie sighed.

 

“Wanna talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Clarence! Please stop… Just please be quiet,” Bonnie snapped. Seeing the almost stricken look on his face, she amended her statement gently, “Sorry. Look, I’m really tired and just… I’m cranky.”

 

“No, it’s okay. I get it.”

 

The couple walked silently down the hallway for a minute, before Clarence piped up again, “But seriously, are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“It’s just normally you’re an open book…” Clarence trailed off.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Bonnie said.

 

“What? What does that mean?”

 

“You’ve cancelled date night like six times on me because of your job. I mean, I understand that you have to work, but don’t you know your work schedule a week in advance?”

 

“Wait, is that why you’re so cranky today? Because I keep cancelling date night on you for work?” asked Clarence gently. He grabbed her free hand and pulled her to the side so that they were both leaning on the lockers.

 

“Partially.” Bonnie willed herself not to think of the terrifying vision she had of Elena dying last night.

 

The school bell rang.

 

“Fuck, I gotta get to class,” Clarence sighed. “But I wanna talk about this. Can I call you later?”

 

Bonnie shrugged, but an unphased Clarence pecked her on the lips, before darting away.

 

Sighing, Bonnie made her way into the cafeteria and plopped down on a seat across from Jen, who was currently engrossed in reading an article on her computer.

 

“Hey,” Bonnie greeted casually.

 

Jen jolted out of her Clint Eastwood level stare down with the computer screen. “Fuck! I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

 

“I figured.”

 

The pair was silent for a beat. Talking to one another was a chore even with the benefit of Clarence’s presence, but conversing one-on-one broached an even greater echelon of awkwardness.

 

“So, what were you reading?” Bonnie eventually broke the quiet.

 

“Oh, just…” Jen trailed off (with every intention of wrapping up her already lackluster response by saying “stuff”) for a moment, but she relented for the sake of maintaining the conversation, “I was reading an article about crime. Specifically about how high Gotham City’s crime rates are. It’s off the charts there, apparently.”

 

“Oh,” Bonnie said. After realizing that her rather unimpressed “oh” could be interpreted as ill-mannered on her part, she swifty tacked on an “interesting” to her intonation.

 

Jen gave an almost imperceptible nod and attacked her ham and cheese sandwich with ferocity; taking this as a cue from Jen that silence was the most natural state of being between them, Bonnie followed suit and began devouring her own PB&J.

 

“So, um…” Jen started. Bonnie’s face snapped up to level with Jen’s.

 

“The article I was reading… About crime in Gotham, I mean.”

 

Bonnie nodded, signalling for Jen to continue.

 

“It gave a few anecdotes... To show how widespread crime is there. It doesn’t just affect the lower and middle classes. It hurts a lot of the rich people, too.”

 

“Are you reading this for history or something?” Bonnie asked.

 

“No, no… I was just wondering if you’ve heard of this guy Jason Todd. He was one of the people mentioned in the article.”

 

“Okay. And?”

 

“He died in Serbia. Terrorist attack. It’s a whole, convoluted story, but there’s a conspiracy theory that the attack was connected to this Gotham mob boss called the Roman and wasn’t actually a terrorist attack at all. It’s pretty interesting. Have you heard of this before?”

 

“No, I haven’t… Why are you reading this again?”

 

“It, um, just popped up on Yahoo News.”

 

“Yahoo News?” Bonnie broke into a smile.

 

“Yeah, what about it?”

 

Bonnie covered her mouth, which was curled in laughter.

 

“Seriously, what?” asked Jen.

 

“You read Yahoo News? I didn’t even know Yahoo still existed!”

 

“Yeah, well, I have a Yahoo email account, so I just kind of browse the news when I’m bored.”

 

“Is that how you spend your Friday nights?”

 

Jen deadpanned, “No, I drive to Florida and strip at shady bars on Friday nights. Saturday is Yahoo News night.”

 

“Right… But seriously, how do you actually spend Friday nights? You never hang out with us or go to parties,” Bonnie said.

 

“Us?”

 

“Me, Elena, Caroline. So, I’m curious: what do you do?” Bonnie asked, peeling away the crust from her PB&J.

 

“Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

 

“So… You just sit at home and read Yahoo News?” Bonnie raised an eyebrow.

 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Jen scrunched up her nose.

 

“No, it’s just different, I guess.”

 

“Jesus, that’s such an asshole thing to say!” Jen laughed.

 

“Excuse me?” Bonnie blinked.

 

“No, no… I’m teasing you. I just meant that ‘different’ is almost always used as a code word for bad.”

 

“Then I guess I’m the worst.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Jen asked.

 

Bonnie ripped off a chunk of her PB&J.

 

“Sorry if that was too personal. You don’t have to answer,” Jen said.

 

“It’s just…” Bonnie began but halted, as thoughts of a screaming Elena colored her next utterance. “Do you ever feel like you’re on the brink of something?”

 

“Like a Eureka moment?”

 

“Not exactly. More like you’re on the brink of discovering something horrible.”

 

Jen’s eyebrows spiked skywards. “I… Yes, I’ve felt that way.”

 

“And what did you do?” Bonnie asked, hurriedly. Pausing for a moment, she continued in a more measured tone, “I mean, what did you do when you felt that way?”

 

Jen’s eyes narrowed, as if she was drawing constellations in her mind and Bonnie was the last star in the pattern. Bonnie shifted under Jen’s gaze and said, “Sorry. That was a weird question. I, um, I’ve just been too much in my own head lately. Forget I said anything, yeah?”

 

“No, no. It wasn’t a weird question. I think I understand what you’re asking; I just don’t want to give you a bullshit answer…” Jen chewed on a salt and vinegar chip thoughtfully. “I mean, when I felt that way, I talked to someone who I trusted to give me the truth. Figured it was better that I knew about the horrible thing and be ready to deal with it than not know at all. But, I mean, at the end of the day, it’s your choice in terms of what you do. That’s the beauty of now.”

 

“Oh God, are you guys talking about Holland’s lecture on transcendentalism? ‘Kids today don’t appreciate the beauty of now, of nature!’ Everything she says is so condescending,” a new voice groaned.

 

Bonnie swiveled around in her seat to see Elena standing behind her. She laughed and said, “Yeah, she’s Satan incarnate. Where’s your lunch, Elena?”

 

Elena slid into a seat next to Bonnie and said, “I already got takeout during study hall for Caroline and I.”

 

“Caroline? She’s in school today?” Bonnie pricked up.

 

Elena said, “Not in school. She’s out sick, so I dropped off some soup at her house.”

 

“Thank God she made it home last night,” Bonnie said, a furrow line unburdening itself from her forehead. “She’s just hungover though, right? She hasn’t answered any of my texts from last night or this morning.”

 

“When I saw her, it seemed like she had a bad hangover and some kind of stomach bug. She threw up on Matt this morning, so he had to drive her home from school. He was the one that texted me to pick up takeout for her, since she can barely look at her phone without getting a headache,” Elena said.

 

“Aw damn. Poor Caroline,” Bonnie pressed her lips together in sympathy.

 

“We should visit her after my movie date with Stefan tonight,” Elena said. “But I also need your help because I’ve got to run the kissing booth tomorrow, since Caroline’s out of commission.”

 

“That’s a tall order, Elena. I don’t know if we can make the kissing booth up to par with her standard of fabulousness, especially without her glitter gun,” Bonnie joked.

 

“God, how could I forget the glitter gun?” Elena agreed, laughter in her eyes. “Anyway, um, Jen, I was wondering if you’d be cool with participating in the kissing booth. We’re short on volunteers.”

 

“Hm?” Jen’s head snapped up from her laptop to meet Elena’s warm gaze. “Volunteer for what?”

 

“The kissing booth,” Elena said.

 

“Um, I think I’ve got a thing…” Jen began.

 

“A thing?” Elena pressed.

 

Jen sighed. “I - never mind, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

 

Elena smiled. “Great! After the kissing booth, do you guys want to come to my house for dinner?”

 

“Girls’ night?” asked Bonnie.

 

“Another time definitely. I was thinking we could have a triple date,” said Elena. Turning to Jen, she continued, “Bonnie told me that you were flirting with someone at the Grill. You should bring him.”

 

Jen choked on her water. “No, no, no… I mean, yeah, we flirted for a minute, but he’s um… He’s way too old for me.”

 

“How about I set you up with someone then? You know Ben McKittrick’s finally single.”

 

“No, that’s fine. There’s really no need to -” Jen said, but Bonnie interrupted, “Invite him, Elena.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 10:29 am, Inside the Batcave, Located in Gotham City, New York. Jason Todd’s POV:_

 

He kept my old suit. It was burned and torn, strung and pulled out like a dull scarecrow. It was right next to the replacement’s new suit… His was all fresh Kevlar and bright green tights. Was I some cautionary tale to this new Robin? Did Bruce warn him not to be like me, the thug Robin, the bad Robin?

 

I had half a mind to shatter the fucking glass case and shred both suits to nothing. Joker, the bastard, had told me the truth. Bruce had replaced me. Had he even looked for me?

 

 _Joker_. The reason I was here. I forced myself to slug away from the suit displays and step over to the Batcomputer to input a search for Joker. If Bruce hadn’t killed him, I… I don’t what I’d do, but I couldn’t not know anymore; I jammed the enter button.

 

Joker’s file opened up on the giant screen. It was fuller than ever. He was still alive.

 

It didn’t matter to Bruce. Joker took me from him, tortured me, branded me, and killed me, but no, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough for Bruce to end Joker, and it certainly wasn’t enough to stop him from snatching up a new Robin.

 

I could taste metal on my tongue. I pounded the computer, and I could feel wetness drip like water down from my hands to the keyboard. My blood was splotched every-fucking-where, and it was blood that didn’t even matter, seeing as it was a different breed than Bruce’s; it was the kind that ran through the veins of every street rat that ever passed through Crime Alley. I guess it made me impossible to love.

 

Fuck, I could feel myself sinking to my knees, pulled down into a puddle of my own blood, like a beggar swimming in his piss. I needed to breathe; I needed to think somewhere away from here.

 

But I couldn’t leave with my blood spattered across the Batcave, and I needed to know who the fuck resurrected me. I yanked open desk drawers, swiping and tossing through case files, documents, some musty, some new, and chewed up pens, until I found it: a flashdrive. I wiped it clean, disabled the tracker Bruce had planted on it, and began downloading every file pertaining to Joker, Ra’s and the League, and myself. There had to be something in the files to give me a better idea as to why I had been resurrected.

 

22% downloaded. The files were fucking huge.

 

Disinfectant spray and wipes in hand, I cleared every speck of my blood from the Batcave before crushing the wipes and stuffing them into Jen’s wallet. I didn’t need Bruce to somehow recover the wipes from the trash and test the DNA on it.

 

78% downloaded. Jesus fuck, this was lasting a lifetime.

 

I needed to erase any record of me entering the Batcave and any camera footage of me, so I threw everything in the system on loop. If Bruce checked, he might be suspicious, but it was a hell of a lot better than him knowing that I was here.

 

87% downloaded. Fucking Christ.

 

My right hand was shaking. Why couldn’t I stop it from fucking shaking? I clenched my right hand into a fist. Better.

 

94% downloaded. Motherfu -

 

“Master Bruce, I am surprised to see you return this early in the day,” a familiar voice sniffed.

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_From the Memory of Jason Todd. Wayne Manor in the outskirts of Gotham City, New York. December, 2009. Third Person POV:_

 

Jason took a drag from his cigarette.

 

“Master Jason, put that out at once! I won’t have that nonsense in my garden,” Alfred said, a platter of crust-cut finger sandwiches in one hand and an assortment of dainty cakes, pastries, and fruit laden burratas in the other.

 

Sighing, Jason dropped the cigarette, rubbed it into the ground with his sneaker until it resembled the remains of a squashed beetle, and swiped an egg salad sandwich from the platter.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jason said through a mouth full of sandwich. He started to stalk away, but Alfred said, “Perhaps you should have some dessert after you finish your sandwich.”

 

“I don’t know, Alfie. Too many of your little cakes and I might morph into Penguin. Fuck if he’s ever missed dessert,” Jason said.

 

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred admonished.

 

Jason grinned. “Sorry.”

 

“I was hoping to speak to you about your attendance in school.”

 

“Isn’t that Bruce’s job? _Raising_ me?”

 

“You very well know that he is on important League business at the Watchtower. He asked that I speak to you in his stead.”

 

“Heh, the old man’s timing has always been great like that,” Jason drawled, rocking back and forth on the heels of his sneakers.

 

“Master Jason…”

 

“Alfred,” Jason said, jamming his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. The snow was beating the garden walkway harder.

 

“I… I know that Master Bruce isn’t always the most forthcoming about how he feels about you, but -”

 

“But it’s obvious that I disappoint him, isn’t it?”

 

“You don’t. He’s proud of you. You’re his son.”

 

“Funny how I always hear that from you and not him,” Jason said. His tone remained nonchalant.

 

“You know how he is, Master Jason.”

 

Jason drew his hood up tighter and let the crunch of fallen snow speak for him.

 

Alfred cleared his throat, “Returning to the matter of your frequent truancy, Master Jason.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before, and I’m telling you, I’ll stop skipping once that damn school sets up a chain-smoking section for me.”

 

“A chain-smoking section? A regular smoking section would not be satisfactory?” Alfred said. There was a lightness in his voice.

 

Jason hummed and snatched a bite sized apple strudel from the platter.

 

“He loves you, you know,” Alfred murmured. “Even if you both don’t always get on like tea and milk.”

 

“Doesn’t matter either way, Alfred. I’m still Robin.”

 

Alfred was prepared to protest, but after digesting the testy expression on Jason’s face, he refrained and said gently, “You always will be.”

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_September 3, 2013 at 10:51 am, Inside the Batcave, Located in Gotham City, New York. Jason Todd’s POV:_

 

Alfred was in the cave, and he thought I was Bruce. Just my fucking luck.

 

95% downloaded.

 

I pulled the last smoke pellet from my boot and dropped it.

 

“Master Bruce, what are you -” Alfred coughed and attempted to move toward me, but I snapped a punch to his lower jaw, knocking him out, under the cover of smoke. Sorry Alfie.

 

100% downloaded. I ejected the flashdrive and ran like a madman out of the Batcave and back into the sewer.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 2:17 pm, At the Salvatore Boarding House in the Outskirts of Mystic Falls. Third Person POV:_

 

Stefan dashed out of his seat to open the car door for Elena.

 

“Why thank you, Mr. Salvatore.”

 

“Any time, Ms. Gilbert.”

 

Elena giggled, and Stefan kissed her cheek.

 

“I think you can do better than that, Stefan,” Elena said, leaning faux seductively against the car.

 

“Better?” he asked, butterflying kisses across her nose and cheeks.

 

“Closer. Go lower,” Elena said, biting her lip.

 

He dipped his head toward her parted mouth but pulled back and kissed her chin. Elena giggled and slapped his chest.

 

“That was mean,” Elena whined, trailing her hand down his chest.

 

“How can I make it up to -” Stefan began, but Elena tugged his face up to hers and kissed him on the lips.

 

“Much better,” Elena said, her mouth smiling against his. “You know, we can always continue this inside.”

 

“I like how you think,” Stefan said, grinning. He threaded their hands together and led Elena up the boarding house’s expansive driveway and into the house. As Elena’s eyes roved over the lavish furniture and heavens-reaching wood ceiling, he tossed his phone onto the foyer table along with his backpack.

 

“Wow, this is…” Elena trailed off.

 

“Kitschy. Don’t you think, Elena?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

 

Elena spun around, only to come face to face with a black haired man.

 

“How did you know my n-” Elena began, but the man interrupted, “Your Stefan’s new flavor of the week?”

 

“Flavor of the week?” Elena muttered, glancing at Stefan, whose head shook vehemently in response to both the man’s assertion and Elena’s question.

 

Stefan, his forehead now valleyed with lines, glared at the other man, as he said, “Elena, this is my brother, Damon.”

 

“Oh, um, you never told me you had a brother,” Elena said, furrowing her brows in her appraisal of Stefan.

 

“Well, Stefan’s not one to brag,” Damon said quickly. “So, I’m assuming you’re here to get the whole house tour. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

 

“Actually, we were just stopping by for a minute, so I could pick up my wallet for the movies,” Stefan cut in.

 

“Stefan, it’s okay. I don’t mind -” Elena began, but Stefan interrupted, “I know Damon has a lot going on right now, so I think it’d be better if we just head to the movies now. Isn’t that right, Damon?”

 

“Actually, Stefan, my schedule is clear for the rest of the day.”

 

The doorbell rang.

 

“Better get that, Stefan,” said Damon.

 

Stefan bristled and robotically moved towards the door.

 

“He can be a real stick in the mud, that one,” Damon whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against Elena’s ear.

 

She jerked away from him and frowned slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Before Damon could respond, Stefan wrenched the front door open to reveal a red skirted Carol Lockwood bearing a beautifully latticed pie. Looking past Stefan, she beamed and called out, “Hi, Damon! I’m sorry for barging in, but I was hoping we could talk.”

 

“No apology necessary. You’re always welcome here, Carol. Please come in,” Damon said. “This is my brother, Stefan, and his girlfriend, Elena.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Carol said politely.

 

“Well, we better get going, Elena,” Stefan said, nodding curtly to Carol.

 

“Right. It was nice meeting you, Damon, and seeing you, Mayor Lockwood,” Elena said.

 

“Great meeting you too, Elena,” purred Damon, taking Elena’s hand and bringing it to his lips.

 

Before he could kiss it, Elena swiftly retracted her hand; he smiled at the action, but she could have sworn she saw his jaw clench.

 

“Goodbye Damon,” Elena said, slipping out of his reach and ribboning her arm through Stefan’s, before taking her leave.

 

Pivoting to Carol, Damon put on a pearly smile and asked: “So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

 

“I’m just here to thank you, really. This town may not know it, Damon, but you’re a hero for taking on that vampire. And so, I, um, whipped up this pie as a thank you. I hope you like blueberry.”

 

“I _love_ blueberry,” Damon said, slowly brushing his hand against Carol’s as he took the pie.

 

“Um, well, good! That’s really good,” Carol blushed. “I, um, also stopped by to tell you that I think... Well, I mean, the whole council thinks that you would be a great addition to the team. We’ve been spread thin, especially since the Gallaghers retired.”

 

“I would be honored to help the council in any way that I can. What can I do?”

 

“Helping us fight the vampire for one, seeing as it’s still alive... If you can even call _it_ alive… But, you know, this might not actually be the best time to talk of such things. Maybe dinner would be better.”

 

“I know just the place.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah… It’s a little out of the way, but it’s beautiful... Very intimate,” Damon said, leaning closer to her. “Classic Florentine food and wine. ‘Nough garlic to ward off any vampire.”

 

Carol tittered and smoothed her skirt. “Well, how does eight o’clock tonight sound?”

 

“It sounds amazing,” he said. “Let me walk you to your car?”

 

As Damon escorted a simpering Carol Lockwood to her car (a gesture that internally left her swooning from the gentility), Stefan’s phone, which had been left abandoned in the process of Stefan and Elena’s retreat from the house, found its way into Damon’s back pocket; and with that theft, Damon’s smile, at long last, stretched to meet his eyes.

**__________________________________________________________________________**

 

_From the Memory of Damon Salvatore. In what is now known as Puerto Varas, Chile. March, 1614. Third Person POV:_

 

Damon Salvatore had been a man, a vampire, and a king; now, however, he was a god. At least, he was a god in the eyes of a thousand kneeling townspeople, who believed that he was one of the four essences that embodied their Creator.

 

Such gratification could, of course, only be ephemeral for Damon, seeing as the townspeople’s offerings and pliance to his demands became at best prosaic and at worst spurious (a crime remedied by compulsion - killing off the people of Puerto Varas might incite rebellion, so Damon was mindful of the body count) with the passage of time.

 

Damon’s tenure as a god had, like all things in his experience, transformed into something utterly boring, and he longed for the conquistadors to return and attempt to vanquish Puerto Varas. He missed the smell of blood in the air, and its sweet taste rushing into his mouth; though, he knew that such a fantasy would grow tiresome too, given enough time.

 

Still, his _excursion_ to Puerto Varas was most useful. If he wasn’t gliding through the temples, taking some praying girls back to his divine residence as _offerings_ , or waltzing through the city streets, he was mountainside, in the company of a small witch coven. The coven’s leader, Puerto Varas’s chief machi shaman, was an old woman bearing the name Sayen. Her face was crinkled like old parchment, and her hair was long and whitened by many summers spent wading through Lago Llanquihue.

 

Sayen, the most venerable witch of her coven, knew what he was - not a god, but a mere vampire. He asked her why she had not alerted the rest of Puerto Varas and driven him away.

 

“You have an important role to play,” she said. Her voice was cragged by the relentless erosion of time, but her eyes were unnervingly alert; their startling clarity had haunted Damon from the moment he met her to the moment he finally killed her.

 

“In fighting off the Spanish?” he asked, meeting her stern gaze.

 

She abruptly hunched over in cough-laden laughter. “No, no. We are more than capable of doing that ourselves, as you already know.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Your time will come, Damon, but it will not be for hundreds of years. You must learn, if you are to be ready to defend us.”

 

“Us?” he prompted.

 

“The Mapuche, the Spanish… Everyone. There are more terrible monsters than you, Damon, and my people will need you to defend them.”

 

Damon nearly collapsed in sincere laughter at what was clearly the old woman’s attempt at ingratiating herself with him. Reeling himself in enough to feign deference, he cleared his throat and replied neutrally, “I thought your people were the Mapuche alone.”

 

“I am a witch. My people are everywhere and everything; they are the soil of the Earth and the salt of the seas. You must be powerful, something of genuine transmutability, to defend them.”

 

“What do you mean by _transmutability_ exactly?”

 

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fly?”

 

“How is that relevant?” he asked, straining to blockade his frustration from his tone.

 

She smiled, as if she knew and approved of his vexation. “Because it’s not enough for you to be just a vampire, just as it is not enough for me to be just a witch. In this form, in this _mortal_ form of mine, it is obvious to everyone around me that I am burdened with my own _mortal_ thoughts and agendas. But… When I transform into a condor, I am simply an unthinking entity to the rest of them. A non-variable in people’s minds. And so, Damon, I assume that it is apparent to you that one can learn much while masquerading as a baser creature.”

 

He relegated his incredulity to a tick of the jaw and asked, “So you want to teach me how to turn into a condor?”

 

“No, no… Perhaps condors are not well suited for a being such as yourself,” she mused.

 

He waited for her to continue.

 

“How do you feel about crows?” she hummed.

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

_September 3, 2013 at 2:42 pm, In the Woods near Mystic Falls High School. Jennifer Hemming’s POV:_

 

So much of my thought process that went into questioning God’s existence hinged on science and the belief that magic was bullshit. Yet, there were vampires rampaging through Mystic Falls. I had nearly been killed by one two days ago, so it’s not as though I could, in sound mind, put their existence into doubt. But how could science explain magic?

 

Maybe I was just losing my sanity. But if that was the case, how would I even _know_ if I was?

 

Fuck. I just needed to find my phone. Dirt was crusted under and over my nails like some cheap, old black nail polish, thanks to my dig through the woods. God, I had hoped that finding my phone would be an in-and-out kind of operation; Clarence and I needed as much time as possible to talk to Alex.

 

“Where the fuck is my phone?” I sang in frustration.

 

 _Caw!_ A crow swooped down and perched on a nearby oak tree in what was apparently nature’s answer to my rhetorical question. It was a nasty looking bird: beady eyed and greasy winged.

 

It cawed again, as if it had read my thoughts. Jumping at the sound, I ignored my hammering heart and resumed combing through the underbrush for my phone.

 

 _Caw!_ Oh my fucking God.

 

“Do you need anything?” I asked, snapping my gaze to meet the crow’s again (maybe talking to this crow was a sign that I had in fact lost my mind).

 

It cocked its head to the left in a weirdly human gesture, and without warning, it dive bombed toward me. I launched myself to the right, away from its slick, angry wings, and fell on my stomach.

 

“You really got no other opening lines?” a hauntingly familiar voice snarked.

 

Scrambling to my feet, I turned - to glare at Damon Salvatore.

 

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it, “You didn’t rat me out. Why not?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re on vervain.”

 

His pupils were enormous; he had been trying to compel me. Why hadn’t I just pretended that it had worked?

 

“Now is not the time to play dumb, Jennifer,” Damon interrupted my train of thought. Both of his arms shot out to grab mine.

 

Even if it bought me more time to live and locate a branch to stake you with? I swallowed that thought and tried to keep my voice even, “Are you asking about when Sheriff Forbes questioned me?”

 

“ _Yes_. So, stop trying to buy time and answer my fucking question. Why didn’t you tell her what really happened?” he snarled, his cold grip was unbearably tight.

 

I couldn’t say it was for Stefan. Given that the two were complete antipodes (at least according to Clarence), I doubted the truth would in any way sway him toward exercising clemency. “There are worse monsters than you out there.”

 

He laughed, with an open mouth and static eyes. “I’m a vampire. There is no worse monster than me. So, do I have to crush your arms, or are you going to tell me the truth?”

 

“I am! I am telling you the truth!” I squealed, as his grip tightened further. “I - I’m talking about Klaus.”

 

His face split in half with an exaggerated guffaw and drawled, “Klaus is a legend. He’s the fucking Easter Bunny! Tell me that you have a better lie for me than that.”

 

“No, he’s not! He’s real, I swear,” I said, lying through my teeth. I had no idea if Klaus was real; the only iota of evidence I had to indicate that he was indeed real came from an old, unreliable journal that Clarence had read. But I had nothing else to say; I needed to commit to my story, unless I miraculously came up with something better. “I swear to you, Damon, that he is as real as me or you. He’s trying to break the curse that was placed on him, and he needs to sacrifice Elena to do it. I couldn’t turn you into the Sheriff, Damon. Not while you are the strongest vampire I know. Not while you’re the only one who can protect Elena from Klaus.”

 

Damon’s eyes froze over in unbridled animus, as he sneered, “Fine, I’ll play your puerile, little game. What makes you think I would ever protect Elena?”

 

I was really riding on my ‘Elena-is-a-doppelgänger’ theory now. Internally praying for its verity, I spoke slowly, “Klaus isn’t just coming for Elena. He wants both doppelgängers. He’ll come for _Katherine_ , too.”

 

Damon bared his fangs and released a stentorian laugh. I could feel my heart start to hollow, as he spat, “You think your little half-assed fairy tale about Klaus can fool me? Huh? You think just because you know about Katherine that I’ll let you live? Is that it?”

 

His hand shot around my throat and squeezed. “Be honest, and I’ll kill you quickly. Why didn’t you rat me out? And who the hell shot me to save you?”

 

“C-can’t breathe,” I gasped for air.

 

“Answer me,” he snarled.

 

“It’d be easier if I showed you,” I rasped, clawing at his hand.

 

“Do you think I was born yesterday? This is obviously some -”

 

“It’s not a trick, Damon. Please. I had the chance to turn you in, but I didn’t. Trust me.”

 

By some miracle, he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and dropped his hand from my aching throat.

 

Fighting my buckling knees, I slowly knelt down and pulled my backpack into my lap. Damon’s lip curled, and I swallowed, forcing myself to ignore him as I unzipped the bag and fished out a pencil.

 

“Really?” he scoffed. “That’s your master plan: staking me with a pencil?”

 

He dropped down to level his eyes with mine and shook his head, an exasperated laugh bubbling from his lips. “You are -”

 

Before he could say anything more, I jammed the pencil into my open palm and watched as Damon’s confused face turned demonic at the sight of my blood rushing up onto my skin; as he leaned closer, I smeared my vervain laced blood across his cheeks. He howled and tipped over, but I didn’t stick around to see what he did next. I needed to get the fuck away from him and find Clarence.

 

Clambering to my feet, I swiped my backpack and sprinted toward the Mystic Falls High parking lot, and there Clarence was - leaning against his dad’s old Jeep, thumbing through some book.

 

“Found your phone?” Clarence asked, brow furrowed as he read.

 

“Get in the fucking car and drive!”

 

His eyes snapped up. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, _I’m_ fucking dandy,” the voice I most dreaded hearing answered for me. I whipped around to see Damon, fully fanged, vermillion eyed, and somehow cleared of my blood, debouching from a crowd of old cars and heading directly toward us.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 2:58 pm, Sheila Bennett’s Residence. Third Person POV:_

 

“Stop being so damn cheap with the frosting!” Sheila said, swatting the butter knife out of Bonnie’s hand. She thoroughly scraped the sides of the can and lathered a cupcake, over-baked and fissured, with vanilla frosting.

 

“Here, now this is how you do it,” Sheila cooed.

 

“Grams, you know it’s not healthy to put _that_ much on.”

 

“Hmm, you ain’t a doctor though, baby.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you know what you’re talking about either. Besides, these old, dry things need some lovin’ to make them edible.”

 

Bonnie sighed and pressed down on her collarbone.

 

“Oh no, I know that face,” Sheila said, putting down her now frosted cupcake.

 

“What face?”

 

“Oh child, why won’t you tell me what’s got you so bothered?”

 

“Nothing’s bothering me, Grams. I would tell you if there was anything.”

 

“No, you’d tell me not to worry and keep doin’ what you’re doin’ now.”

 

“It’s just…” Bonnie trailed off, chewing her bottom lip.

 

Sheila peeled the wrapper off a frosted cupcake and handed it to Bonnie. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know, baby.”

 

“Is it true?” Bonnie whispered. She wasn’t sure if Sheila could even hear her.

 

There was a smile fidgeting on Sheila’s lips. “It’s not such a bad thing, you know. Being a witch. Having visions. You can learn a lot from them. Prevent the bad ones from happening.”

 

“It was so bad, Grams... I saw Elena. She was dead,” Bonnie gulped. She opened her mouth, but the dam had already overflowed; wracking sobs and hot tears overtook her.

 

“Shhh, baby, shhh. It’s okay. Really, it’s fine. You can trust me. I’m gonna help you through it all,” Grams said, wrapping her arms around Bonnie. “Soon, you’ll see you’re _lucky_ to have this power, baby. Just wait and you’ll see.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 3:02 pm, In the Mystic Falls High School Parking Lot. Jennifer Hemming’s POV:_

 

Luck was a lady wearing red, fuck-me-daddy heels and pearls suitable for your quintessential Southern belle. Her name was Carol Lockwood, and I guess fate was on my side today, given that she was standing directly behind Damon.

 

“Fancy running into you again, Damon,” she said, smiling.

 

Immediately, Damon’s face contorted to its human form, and his bared teeth were swapped out for a passably authentic smile.

 

“Couldn’t wait for our date?” he said playfully, turning to face her.

 

“I’m here for the first committee meeting for the Miss Mystic Falls competition, actually. Oh my goodness! Clarence, is that you?” she said.

 

Clarence gave her a quick jerk of a wave and jabbed his thumb into my side. He muttered, “Get in the car.”

 

I didn’t have to be told twice, nor did I have to tell him to step on the gas. Clarence swerved out of the parking lot and jettisoned us past the school.

 

It wasn’t until we had left the Mystic Falls welcome sign far behind that Clarence broke our shocked silence, “Did Aunt Carol just…”

 

“Save our asses? Yeah, she did.”

 

Silence followed my words. I shifted in my seat to look at Clarence and asked, “Why didn’t he just kill her? She’s on the fucking council.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you think he knows she’s on the council?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you think Damon even knows about the council? God, what is he playing at?” I asked.

 

“Jen, I don’t know.”

 

“Do you think Alex would know?”

 

“Jen! Jesus fucking Christ. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know?”

 

“Clarence, I -”

 

“We nearly just fucking died back there, Jen. I - I don’t even… It’s real. This is real,” Clarence said, his eyes locked on the road.

 

My heart clenched.

 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’m just…”

 

“It’s okay, Clarence. I understand.”

 

Silence flooded us again.

 

“Do you think he’s fucking her?” Clarence asked.

 

“Carol?”

 

“He said something about a date. God, Jen, do you think he’s fucking her?” his tone became more insistent.

 

Yes, definitely. “Maybe…”

 

“Christ, he’s fucking my aunt. Is he going to drink from her? Kill her? I bet he will. Use her the same way he tried to use you. Jen, I...”

 

“Clarence.”

 

“We have to turn around. We have to get her away from him. The fuck away from him.”

 

Clarence was picking up speed - the trees were blurry, and the highway lines were starting to merge into one white stripe.

 

“Whoa, Clarence, slow down.”

 

“Jen…”

 

“Slow down and pull over. We’re going to figure this out, okay? But not until you’ve pulled over.”

 

He sniffed and nodded, his head bouncing like a bobblehead, as he veered to the curb.

 

“We should call her,” I said.

 

“Call her? _Call her_? And say what exactly, Jen?” he asked, snapping his head to meet my eyes.

 

“We need something good. Something to get her away from him today,” I muttered, staring at the dashboard.

 

“For today? How about for fucking ever?” Clarence snapped.

 

“One step at a time, okay? Let’s worry about today. Let’s get her away from him _today_. We’ll figure out how to get rid of him for good later, but right now, we need more information. We need to talk to Alex.”

 

He huffed. “Alright, fine. But again: what the fuck do we say?”

 

“Fuck… Something about Tyler.”

 

“And…?”

 

“Hold on, hold on. I’m fucking thinking.”

 

“Add a few more fuck’s in there, and I say we’re rolling.”

 

“Hush.”

 

“I’m -” Clarence began, but I interrupted him, “Tell her that Tyler has crabs.”

 

“What the fuck? In what world -” Clarence started, but I interjected again, “It’ll get her the fuck away from Damon. Tyler’s her baby, her only kid. She’ll run circles around him all fucking day, trying to get him to the doctor’s, trying to get him to explain what the hell happened. Call her. Tell her that Tyler told you that he has crabs. Being the good nephew you are, of course, you felt obligated to tell her, even though it also meant you’d be breaking Tyler’s confidence.”

 

Clarence stared blankly at me for a moment, before combusting in a torrent of laughter. I gave him a minute, before patting his back and asking, “You good?”

 

“That’s seriously your solution? It’s ridiculous.”

 

“Well shit, Clarence, I don’t see you coming up with anything.”

 

“I… I - fuck, fine. I’ll call her,” Clarence sighed. He scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket, but before pressing down on Carol’s contact, he grinned suddenly. “Tyler’s going to be in such deep shit.”

 

“Schadenfreude.”

 

“That German for shit-for-brains?”

 

I fought to pull back my smile. “Just call your aunt.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 4:39 pm, Jason Todd’s Loft, Atop Gotham Cathedral, Located in Gotham City, New York. Jason Todd’s POV:_

 

From this view, it was easy to see that Gotham hadn’t changed. Smoke and smog, the city’s classic combo-meal, blocked out any sky, any sun, anything natural from sight. The buildings were still falling to pieces; laundry and trash were strung up on windows and chucked into piles on front steps and sidewalks. I’m sure the people were the same as ever, too - with their darting eyes and knife-gripping hands.

 

Freddy, the old fuck, sure hadn’t changed. He was still taking beatings from the rain and wearing stone wings. Apparently, he’d remained stalwart in defending the loft’s entrance; my ratty mattress was still there, along with my computer, backup weapons, and torn up baseball cards.

 

This was always my place. Whenever I wasn’t out (stealing or selling crystal for El Penitente), I spent my time dicking around here - playing a Cheap Trick album I had kiped from a record shop or jacking off to some _Playboy_ I had pilfered from a newstand. But fuck if I hadn’t kept the place copacetic; I had a whole intricate stacking and rationing system for the food I’d hustled and an organized collection of stolen items I was planning to pawn off.

 

Sometimes, after climbing down from the cathedral loft to the nave (praying people are easy to pickpocket), Father Cassius slid me some cash or a pack of Twinkies. The second I returned to the loft, I’d stash both the money and the Twinkies under one of the loft’s removable floor planks in nice, even stacks. But no good deed goes unpunished, especially not in Gotham: Cassius was murdered a year after I became Robin. The fifteen stab wounds to the back and the chest killed him, but the crowbar that bludgeoned him in the back of the head made damn sure his funeral would be closed casket.

 

The point is: he was nice, nicer than the other priests, who chased after and fucked the little choir boys unfortunate enough to come from families that didn’t give a shit about what happened to them. Some of the boys went along with it, for the same reason that I stole: survival.

 

But even after Bruce took me in and forged me into his next child soldier, the place was still mine - a testament to _my_ durability and survival. I bought the computer, the mattress, and the weapons with my own money. Hell, he didn’t even know about the loft, until he found me sitting next to Freddy after patrol one night. This had all happened before Felipe, before Bats had given up on me.

 

I remember Bruce asking why I called the gargoyle Freddy, and I made some joke; I forget how it went, but it was a classic “priests and their gloryholes” kind of schtick. He didn’t laugh, but I kept wisecracking and talking about how well it related to the movie _Freddy Got Fingered_ , and his lips quirked up a little then. Still no laugh, of course, but there was something of a smile there, and he said we should get some burgers and shakes for old time’s sake.

 

That night, we wound up at some 50s themed burger joint called Mel’s; the guy who owned the place (ironically named Jerry) took our order and shouted it back to the only cook on staff. Before the food came out, I threw some quarters into the jukebox, and seeing as Jerry was too damn cheap to hire more than one cook, the jukebox had ample time to cycle through all of _London Calling_ , before I even got a whiff of a patty. Alfred would’ve hated everything about Mel’s, but Bruce’s lips were still somehow pointed upwards by the end of our time there, so sometimes, we went back to see Jerry (and his beer belly to end all beer bellies), eat some sloppy chili burgers, and listen to the old, hokey ass jukebox - so long as the quality of that night’s patrol aligned with Bruce’s standards.

 

As time passed, burger runs to Mel’s became fewer in number. But even then, I always thought I _mattered_ in some way to Bruce. I knew that it’d never be the same as it was with Dick, but I still thought I mattered - enough for him to not replace me (before he even knew I was cold in the ground) or at least enough for him to finally end Joker.

 

 _Joker_.

 

With a clenched fist, I jammed the flashdrive into the computer. Files blew up all over the screen, and I tried to beat down my thoughts enough to get to work: reviewing anything and everything about what had happened since I was killed.

 

It was clear from what I read that Bruce had no part in my resurrection, which meant it had to be Ra’s: I had encountered a Shadow as well as emerged from a Lazarus Pit in Mystic Falls. For fuck's sake, Bruce made zero updates to the _Jason Todd_ file since my death...

 

But there were plenty of updates to Joker’s. Three weeks after I died, he blew up a clinic: 67 killed, 34 injured. Five months later, he kidnapped and flayed six kids, so he could use their skins to make giant bat wings. A year after I died, he killed Gotham’s mayor and her entire family.

 

And what did Bruce do to _punish_ Joker? Put him in Arkham once, twice - but did it stick? No, of course it fucking didn’t. Because Bruce was wrong about all of it. Justice wasn’t found in locking away the problem until it escaped. No, it was in ending the problem. It was when I killed that Shadow. That was the truest, most virile sense of justice I’d ever served - more potent than anything I’d ever delivered during my tenure as Robin. It’s the kind of justice Joker needed but Batman would never give.

 

But I could. I fucking could. And I could do more than just kill Joker; I could change Gotham from its roots out. Crime could never be expunged, but what if I could control it? What if I could reroute the flow of money from drugs and ordnance to education to medicine to anything else that Gotham needed to survive and rebuild? I’d be a better Batman than Bruce.

 

_September 3, 2013 at 5:10 pm, On I-73 Interstate Highway, Virginia. Jennifer Hemming’s POV:_

 

“How’s your milkshake?” I asked Clarence.

 

“Vanilla. Yours?” he said in between noisy slurps.

 

“Not vanilla. Wanna try mine?” I laughed.

 

“Nah, I only like it vanilla.”

 

“Sure thatwins you plenty of points in the bedroom.”

 

Clarence barked out a laugh. “And somehow  _I'm_  always the perv.”

 

I stirred my chocolate milkshake and segwayed, “But, uh, speaking of Bonnie…”

 

“Yeah?” Clarence hummed distractedly, as he pulled out of the drive-through.

 

“She said something to me at lunch. About how she felt like she was on the, um, brink of discovering something.”

 

“And what? You’re mad you're not the only Marie Curie in school?” Clarence smirked.

 

“Clarence, she made it sound like she was discovering something bad; she sounded really freaked out the whole time she was telling me. And it got me thinking… Is there any chance Bonnie’s supernatural?”

 

“No. There’s no way. If anything was up, she’d tell me. I’m sure she’s just nervous about school; her dad’s been on her ass about doing better.”

 

“I’m sure she is, but it’s not like you tell her everything... Between everything with Alex and you being a hunter.”

 

“Because I’m trying to protect her, Jen.”

 

“I know that, and it’s admirable of you. But don’t you think Bonnie wants to protect you, too?”

 

Clarence stared at the empty road ahead.

 

“I’m sorry for being so pushy. I… I know it’s probably nothing. I just thought you should be aware of it,” I said. “And, honestly, after everything that’s happened, it’s easy to slap the supernatural label on anything a little off.”

 

“No, I get it. I do the same thing,” Clarence said. Sighing, he continued, “It’s just that Bonnie’s pissed at me, and I, um… I’m pretty sure that’s why she was off with you.”

 

“Why’s she pissed at you? Is everything okay? Are _you_ okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just keep blowing her off because my training schedule with Alex is so fucking sporadic. I can never nail down solid meeting times.”

 

“We can lobby him for more solid hours today.”

 

“You ever try not thinking like a lawyer? You’re seventeen.”

 

“Don’t bring me down, Bruce!” I sang.

 

“That's the only decent ELO song.”

 

“You mean only one of _many_ great ELO songs.”

 

“Oh fuck all. Today’s not the day for that debate.”

 

“Tapping out already, _Clarice_?” I stuck my tongue out at him.

 

“Christ, we need a safe word,” he said. Humming, he thought aloud, “Something like, uh…Um...”

 

“Guess you never needed one before, huh? Seeing as you only like _it_ vanilla,” I teased him.

 

“Jen, please, you're a virgin! You've got no -” Clarence began, but I spoke over him, “So how do you feel about ‘don’t stop’? For a safe word.”

 

Clarence raised his eyebrows and belched out a laugh. “Feels like some _strange magic_ to me.”

 

“God, you're such a liar! I _knew_ you liked ELO!” I shot up in my seat, nearly knocking over the McDonald’s takeout bag on my lap.

 

He groaned into his burger, “Sometimes, I don’t know why we’re friends, Jen.”

 

“So how much longer until we get there?” I asked, ignoring his comment.

 

“Try sounding a little more whiny,” he said, a smile scrambling onto his lips.

 

“Hey, just trying to decide if it’s worthwhile to take a nap.”

 

“Take a nap. 100%,” he said.

 

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, mentally counting up to a hundred in an effort to lull myself into some much needed sleep. However, just as I felt the stillness of sleep wash over my body, Jason’s figure randomly blipped into my mind.

 

I tried to suppress the memory of him and concentrate on falling asleep, but thoughts of Jason kept leaking through the cracks of my mind. Thoughts of how gentle his hands were, in spite of their calluses, as he held my face during our kiss.

 

Just like that, I was transported into some abandoned alleyway. Was I dreaming, or was this just my imagination forcing me to stay awake?

 

“Still haven’t killed Damon, I see?” a deep voice asked. Jason’s voice.

 

I whipped around and nearly collided with him, as he loomed directly over me. His eyes glowed, and he smiled mischievously.

 

“No, I haven’t,” I said, finding my voice. “Please -”

 

“Help you?” Jason leaned down even closer towards me. His nose brushed mine.

 

I nodded, and he murmured, “And what would you be willing to do for me, if I were to help you?”

 

“I -” I began, but I was immediately silenced by the press of his lips on mine and the feeling of his arms enveloping me.

 

Before I could even comprehend the feeling of his arms around me, Jason lifted me from the ground and guided my legs around his waist. My name dripped from his mouth and into mine, as he started to lightly grind against me.

 

“Jen!” a voice that I was all too aware didn’t belong to Jason called out. Clarence?

 

My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself in the passenger seat of Clarence’s car again, with my feet shaking on top of the dashboard - nearly knocking over the hula girl that Clarence had bought on his trip to Hawaii.

 

“Wake up, Jen!” Clarence said.

 

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up and that I was awake but felt drool fall from my lips. I quickly wiped it away, but Clarence noticed and hooted with laughter.

 

“Have a good dream?” he asked, continuing to snicker.

 

Yes, and I was now uncomfortably wet. Thanks for asking, Clarence. Wait, did Clarence _know_ that I was having a wet dream?

 

“I wasn’t dreaming. I just -” I said, but he cut me off, “Whatever you say, Jen. We’re here, by the way.”

 

Thank Christ.

 

A house, fit for any lowdown prostitution ring, came into view; several large, white tarps were thrown, haphazardly, over it, as if they would conceal the house’s ramshackle state. There was an equally worn barn to the side, complete with a silo and an array of abandoned animal pens.

 

“So this is where Alex has been squatting?” I teased. “Expected a drug lord like him to have a more luxurious place... And maybe less cockroaches.”

 

“Just move your ass, Jen,” Clarence grumbled, already halfway out of the car door. He muttered half-heartedly, “There haven’t been any cockroaches in the house... Since he had the place renovated last month.”

 

I swallowed back a laugh and followed him up the driveway and to the front door. He barely even touched the doorbell, before the door bopped open to reveal a man as haggard looking as the house he inhabited. Without preamble, the man ground out, “You Clarence’s little lady friend? Brenda or something?”

 

Clarence cut in, “No, um, Alex, this is Jen. She’s my friend. The one who -”

 

“Right, right, right. I remember. I remember. The one who _knows_ everything. I’ve got cigarettes and coffee inside.”

 

That seemed to be as much of an invitation into the house as we’d get, as Clarence quickly slipped past Alex after the cigarettes and coffee comment. I followed him inside.

 

I expected the interior design of a crackhouse, but instead, I got an aging Versailles. Sure, the wood floors creaked, but they were glossy and tented by a gigantic, albeit worn, Savonnerie carpet, which spanned the distance between two dual, mahogany staircases; fading frescos were brushed all across the ceiling, and chandeliers dripped down from above to appear like a labyrinth of stalactites. Every piece in the room, however, seemed grounded in an orbit around a massive fountain, complete with marble naiads and a trident-pierced kraken.

 

Holy fuck.

 

I didn’t have to look; I could already feel Clarence’s smirk.

 

“You have a lovely home,” I forced out.

 

“Meh, she’s no prize horse at first glance, but she’s bangin’ when you’re inside her,” Alex said, a creepy smile playing on his lips. “A classic case of butterface. So, you smoke?”

 

Not until I decided I wanted lung cancer. “Uh no.”

 

“Shame,” Alex sighed. “Anyway, come on. I’ll take you kids to the drawing room. Blow your little lady friend’s mind a little more, huh, Clarence?”

 

“Again, she’s not my, um, little lady friend,” Clarence said.

 

“Sure she isn’t kid,” Alex hacked out a laugh. He turned on his heel and began to walk deeper into his expectation-shattering mansion. “Come on. Let’s roll out.”

 

Clarence turned to me, but before he could say anything, I echoed his earlier words, “Just move your ass, Clarence.”   

 

“That’s what I like to hear, girlie!” Alex hooted.

 

Clarence and I jogged to catch up with Alex, who was already halfway across the piazza-size foyer.

 

“But, um, speaking of Clarence’s lady friend,” I began, clearing my throat.

 

“Which you are certainly not,” Alex cut in, and I shot back, “Yeah, I’m certainly not. But it’s difficult for Clarence to meet with _her_ when you -”

 

Clarence laughed nervously and interrupted, “Jen, I thought you were joking about lobbying him.”

 

“Lobbying me?” Alex asked. “For what?”

 

“For you and Clarence to meet at more regular, predetermined hours,” I said, before Clarence could get the chance to speak.

 

“And do you want more regular, predetermined hours, Clarence?” Alex said slowly.

 

“I mean… Yeah,” Clarence said.

 

“Well tough shit. You think a vampire is gonna wait to fight on your time?” Alex snapped. “No, it fucking won’t. And neither will I.”

 

“Don’t you think that’s -” I started, but Alex interrupted, “Little lady, I’ve been kind enough to agree to help you and your boyfriend out today. I suggest you drop the little Miss Unionize the Plebes act.”

 

I opened my mouth to argue, but Clarence elbowed my side, and I reluctantly let my mouth close.

 

“Good. We’re in here,” Alex said, jerking his head to two twin doors, which seemed scissored out of a brochure for the Château de Saint-Cloud.

 

The drawing room itself was Janussed by how profligate every element of the room appeared against how much senescence had weathered away at every sofa and every floor board’s sparkle. As if every visitor had this very thought and Alex had indefatigably rehearsed this line, he said, “Whether in torpor or in vigor, one finds a relatable figure in this room of rooms.”

 

“Where is that line from?” I asked.

 

“It’s from me,” Alex said smoothly.

 

Liar. Still, I nodded and moved to sit next to Clarence, as Alex held his arms out in welcome.

 

“So,” Alex began. “Clarence tells me you’re having issues with Damon Salvatore.”

 

“Yeah, actually -” I began, but Alex interrupted, “Want some coffee?”

 

“Sure,” Clarence said. I kept my glare schooled and said, “I’m fine. So, before we talk about Damon, I have some questions about -”

 

“Goddamn! Is she always this direct, son?” Alex sighed, as he stalked over to an antique coffee machine at the other end of the room.

 

“Yeah, she is. S’why she’s my best friend,” Clarence said lowly.

 

My heart swelled; Alex’s clearly did not, but he nodded, in some sort of weird understanding with Clarence, and cleared his throat, before asking, “So, what are your questions, Jen?”

 

I had a million. And so I asked - about Katherine and Elena, Klaus, and Gotham City legends. Alex answered me slowly, stewing in his coffee and my questions, but I learned (assuming he could, as Clarence had assured me many times over, be trusted) that Katherine was real, and she and Elena were indeed dopplegängers.

 

How Alex even knew about Elena was up in the air, given that he dodged that question; instead, he turned to the subject of the accuracy of the journals in his collection (apparently, they were hit or miss) and of Klaus. According to Alex, Klaus wasn’t real, and the whole dopplegänger concept was completely unrelated to Klaus or Klaus’s, apparently fake, curse.

 

No, Katherine and Elena were the result of random fluctuations in natural, Earthbound magic; fluxes like this, supposedly, happened on occasion for no real rhyme or reason. Of course, Alex cautioned us that dopplegängers often attracted the wrong kind of attention from the supernatural world and supplemented this with confirmation that Katherine Pierce and Stefan Salvatore were a thing back in the day.

 

When we moved on to my questions about Gotham, however, Alex stumbled, “Why do you want to know?”

 

“I work there. For a professor interested in mythology,” I said. Clarence shot me a look.

 

“Then why not ask her? Don’t you want to get to the real meat of why you’re here today? _Damon_?” Alex asked.

 

“Her speciality isn’t local. I was just wondering… Are there any supernatural beings with reanimation powers? Besides vampires,” I said quickly. “Anything like that in Gotham?”

 

“Not to my knowledge,” Alex said.

 

“Any Gotham City legends?” I persisted. Anything that could explain Jason Todd coming back from the dead?

 

“Well, I’m sure you already know about the bats,” Alex huffed into his coffee.

 

“The bats?”

 

“Urban legends. Look, kid, unless you want to talk about vampires, there’s really no reason to talk at all,” Alex said. His voice didn’t exactly leave room for dispute, so I bowed out, “Alright, I understand.”

 

And so Clarence and I told him everything - from the night that Damon tried to feed on me to my miraculous rescue (Alex seemed to agree with Clarence’s assessment that Jason was likely a nomadic hunter - apparently, they were rather common) to today’s events with Sheriff Forbes, Damon, and Carol Lockwood (Alex recoiled when we brought her name into the mix).

 

“Back up. So Sheriff Forbes really bought your whole ‘oh-gee-willikers I’m so innocent and clumsy’ act?” Clarence said.

 

“Fuck if I know. Probably not. But I don’t think she’ll do anything,” I said. “Maybe investigate some more, but the cops haven’t been able to connect Damon to any of the past murders, so I doubt she’ll find anything.”

 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Alex said, pouring himself a third cup of coffee. “It’s a complicated history, but Damon Salvatore helped found this town. He knows all about the council. How they think. How they work. It’s damn unlikely he left behind anything that could be traced to him.”

 

“Is he trying to infiltrate the council through Carol?” I asked.

 

“ _Mayor_ _Lockwood_ to you, girlie. And yeah, seems like it,” Alex said, dragging his sleeve across his mouth. How was he already done with his third cup? Hadn’t he just poured it?

 

“How do we keep her away from him?” Clarence piped up.

 

“We don’t,” Alex said.

 

“What do you mean we don’t? How the fuck are we supposed to protect every-” Clarence’s voice rose, but Alex kept his tone even, “You need to bide your time.”

 

“Damon’s been killing people for months now. He knows that _Jen_ knows about him; he was going to kill her today. Hell, he even exposed himself to me. How the fuck can either of us afford to bide our time?” Clarence put down his coffee.

 

“Stefan. Stefan is how you’ll be able to afford more time,” Alex said. He turned to me, “You said Stefan tried to compel you to stay away from Damon.”

 

I nodded, and Alex continued, “Good. For now, being cautious and relying on each other and Stefan will have to be enough.”

 

Clarence and I both sputtered and opened our mouths to protest, but Alex charged on, “Neither of you can protect yourselves or anyone else in the state you’re currently in. You both need to train, and we need an airtight plan, if we’re in this shit for the long game.”

 

“Well, what’s our plan then?” I asked fervently.

 

“You’re asking the wrong question,” Alex said.

 

I was about to protest, before a quiet hum vibrated out from Clarence’s throat. I turned to him expectantly, but he kept his eyes trained on Alex’s, as he asked coolly, “Then what’s our long game?”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 10:59 pm, At the Residence of Caroline Forbes. Third Person POV:_

 

Sweat was sheened over Caroline’s skin; she wasn’t sure if it was skating over her eyes too, but something was distorting her vision so that everything looked like a heavily diluted water color painting. Her bureau was creamy and splotched with what she knew, logically, was her makeup kit and jewelry box, but it was so difficult to comprehend, with her sight so spoiled and her muscles so constricted.

 

She wondered if this was what childbirth was like, if childbirth wasn’t a local event. She howled at the sudden force that crushed around her stomach and felt herself collapse into herself, as if she were the human reckoning of a neutron star.

 

“There, there,” a voice cooed. Caroline tossed her head from side to side, in a desperate attempt to locate the voice, which categorically sounded like Elena's. Elena would help her; Caroline knew that she would.

 

“Elena!” Caroline croaked.

 

“Not quite,” said the voice.

 

And that was when Caroline found the resolve to open her eyes to see not-quite Elena, who somehow looked precisely like Elena, notwithstanding the blurriness tumbling through Caroline’s sight.

 

“Who -” Caroline croaked, but not-quite Elena smiled lazily and spoke, “Katherine. My name is Katherine. I’m going to help you, okay? Take this.”

 

Katherine held out a small, white pill and drawled, “Take it, Caroline. It’ll help ease the pain.”

 

_September 3, 2013 at 11:12 pm, On I-73 Interstate Highway, Virginia. Third Person POV:_

 

A crate of stakes, a pile of old journals, and Alex’s insistence that they contact him if things started looking South were the only three keepsakes Clarence and Jennifer left his farm with.

 

“We’re going to be okay,” Jen said. “So long as we take vervain, stay together at all times -”

 

“Do you know how logistically difficult that’s going to be? Staying together at all times?” Clarence asked.

 

“It’s just for a few weeks. Until we kill him. We can do that, Clarence. School’s fine, since it’s a public place. Besides that, we drive to school together and spend the rest of our time -”

 

“Under house arrest,” Clarence finished her sentence.

 

“Yeah, but we’ll train, too. And you can invite Bonnie over when I get too annoying for you to deal with.”

 

“About driving to school….”

 

“Couldn’t Damon just swoop in and kill us? Is that your question?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We can crush up some vervain. Rub it onto the car door handles. Plus, we’ll have stakes on hand. We’re going to be okay.”

 

“Do you think it will be enough?” Clarence asked quietly. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

 

“I… I hope so,” Jen said. "Are we really going through all of this to protect Stefan?"

 

Clarence opened his mouth, but he thought better of it and settled on giving Jen a solemn nod; a heavy silence wedged itself between them for some time after.

 

Eventually, Clarence tilted his head toward the journal resting on Jen’s lap. He croaked, "What's in there? Anything worthwhile?"

 

“I don’t really know. I just read the dedication,” Jen said, running her hands over the vellum cover. “Want me to read it aloud?”

 

“Yeah, go for it.”

 

Opening the journal, she cleared her throat and began to read: “I, Lord Andrew Bennett, who have walked this mortal coil for years beyond counting -”

 

Clarence burst out laughing. “That’s the most emo thing I’ve heard in years.”

 

Jen snorted and skimmed the page. “It’s really pretty prose, Clarence. Anyway, the rest basically just talks about him being a vampire. Want me to skip ahead?”

 

“Please do.”

 

Jen flipped forward through the journal, until she settled on a page and began to read again: “It is galling that the mere act of putting ink to quill to parchment can leave one so fatigued. Journaling should not be such an arduous, nay herculean, task. Still, it is with this journal that I hope to fossilize my legacy through the bonds of time. Aside from my love, I have never preserved, or even attempted to preserve, anything throughout my immortal life.”

 

“Jen, I’m driving. Stop putting me to sleep.”

 

“Don’t you want to hear more about how tough it is to journal?”

 

“Fucking kill me.”

 

“Name me as sole beneficiary on your life insurance first.”

 

“Keep reading.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Jen said, sighing. After clearing her throat, she flipped to a new page and read: “The device is a weapon against (curiously) all vampires; it was created in Renfield’s forges as per his master’s commission. I have entrusted its keeping to Kimberly. What she and I have between us is… I am unsure of how to transcribe the nature of such a relationship, but I do know that I feel for this wild woman. And she is as wild in spirit as her last name foretells: Ocelot.”

 

“Why’d you stop?” Clarence yawned. “Knocking you out too?”

 

“Kimberly Ocelot. My fucking -” Jen began, but Clarence interrupted, “Wait, as in your boss?”

 

Jen nodded, and Clarence sputtered, “Wait, what the fuck?”

 

“I - fuck, I don’t know!” Jen said. “What does this even mean?”

 

“I….”

 

“I emailed her. Asked her to meet for coffee. She hasn’t -” Jen began, but Clarence interrupted her, “Check your damn email, woman!”

 

And sure enough, upon pulling out her laptop and opening her inbox, Jen found a concise reply from Dr. Ocelot. She read it aloud for Clarence: “I’d love to meet for coffee to chat some more! How does a 9 am meet up for September 5 sound?”

 

"Sounds like hell."

 

"Yeah..."

 

"...But you're gonna meet up with her anyway?"

 

"I mean... Duh."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Jen’s Many Theories: Just because Jen believes something is true or speculates something does not actually mean it is true or is going to happen. She loves to theorize and ponder everything she learns, but her conclusions are definitely NOT always correct. While she was right about Elena being the doppelgänger, it does not mean that any of her other theories are accurate at all. 
> 
> On Crows in South America: I don’t think there are any crows in Chile, but for the sake of this story/maintaining a canon detail (in which Damon is able to transform into a crow), I wrote the scene with Sayen as if there were indeed crows located in Chile (so that she would actually know about them). 
> 
> PSA: Please never drink and take pills (including Aspirin and Tylenol the next day - that can “overload” your liver and kill you). I say this because Caroline took Xanax after drinking (which is a huge no-no, and she is lucky to have lived), and I do not want any readers to think that this is safe to do. Caroline’s use of Xanax and alcohol was meant to reveal something about her character; it’s not a reflection of what is safe/good behavior.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading this (I really do appreciate it)!!! This is my first multi-chapater fan fiction, and I plan on making this a very long one (I know the entire plot to it, but I just need to actually write it out). I promise that I will finish this, but I cannot promise regular updates (I apologize for that in advance). I also apologize for any typos (I don't have a beta). University, family/friend obligations, and other commitments keep me very busy, so I don't always have time to review my work as thoroughly as I would like.
> 
> Feel free to leave a review if you have the time or inclination to do so. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please be gentle (I will take whatever advice you have into account; I just would prefer not to have anything truly malicious commented about me or this story).
> 
> Also, lol @Thomas Stonewell. The man fancies himself a romantic (but, to me, he's just plain dramatic).
> 
> Some quick notes about formatting:  
> -Preceding each chapter will be a journal entry. The reason for this inclusion will be revealed as the story unfolds.  
> -Long, straight black lines will separate journal entries and flashbacks (which will appear starting Chapter 2 and will continue throughout the rest of the story) from the main, present day storyline (by present day, I mean 2013).  
> -There will be multiple POVs, as exemplified by this first chapter.


End file.
